


Arrested by Love

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Closeted Dean, Dean in Panties, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time Bottoming, Hand Jobs, Hate to Love, Hot Tub Sex, M/M, Minor Injuries, Miscommunication, Musician Dean, Riding, Rock Star Dean, Sheriff Castiel, Smut, Top Castiel, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: Running away from an affair gone wrong, famous musician and media darling Dean Winchester flees to the only place small enough to offer him security: his hometown of Madison, West Virginia.Holing up in his father’s old cabin, he plans to wait out the storm in relative peace. Until he meets the new sheriff, Castiel Novak, who seems to be the only person in town immune to Dean’s (many) charms. Several maddening encounters and one completely unjustified arrest later, Dean is sure of one thing: his time at home will be anything but boring.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had way too much fun writing for this challenge! Biggest thanks to Lauren, my excellent beta-reader and the person that convinced me to take part in this challenge. "You'll only need to write a thousand words!" Welp, here, have my 40k deancas cheesy love story instead! Also, big thanks to the mods for organising it, and to Deancebra who, as it turned out, claimed the same summary and created an amazing piece of art to go together with this fic! [ART HERE](https://deancebra.tumblr.com/post/162849467802/for-the-destielharlequinchallenge-art-post)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“I told you, Charlie, nothing’s wrong. I just need some time off,” Dean says, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he tries to maneuver the car into what’s obviously too small a parking spot for the Impala.

Charlie doesn’t buy his half-hearted excuse. Not that he’s surprised — his manager usually sees right through all of his shit, has done for the last few years she’s been working for him. And if he’s being honest with himself, this time he’s not even really trying to sound genuine.

“And what does ‘some time off’ mean?” Charlie asks. “A few days? A week?” 

Dean grunts without conviction, still more focused on his car than on the conversation.

“A month?” Charlie sounds scandalised now and Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so annoyed at the two cars he’s trying to fit between.

“I’d give it a few months,” he mutters petulantly.

“What the heck, Dean, you can’t just—”

Charlie’s shriek makes Dean flinch and, before he can try to calm her down, his phone slides off his shoulder. He jerks his hand in an attempt to catch it and the car swerves violently just as his foot pushes down on the gas pedal.

The Impala scratches the side of the car in front of her with a loud, horrifying _skrrreeek_ that makes Dean’s entire body prickle.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

He spends a few long seconds sitting frozen in place, too shocked to even think about moving. He has never hit anything while parking, not in his earliest days of driving, not even in those few shameful times he’s driven while drunk off his ass. It must be nerves, or exhaustion. Or, you know, being yelled at by your manager while also scared shitless of coming back to your hometown after almost ten years of absence.

Finally, he manages to unstick himself from the seat and tumble out of the car to inspect the damage. He’ll get over it if it’s just paint, he’s been meaning to freshen her up a bit in the upcoming days anyway, but if it’s anything more—

“Oh, shit,” he groans.

He has no idea how he managed not to notice it was the sheriff’s car right in front of him but it’s here, plain in sight, with the fresh marks of the Impala’s bumper on its back door. Baby hasn’t suffered too much, at least, nothing a light paint job won’t fix, but the sheriff’s car—

He has a few seconds to consider driving away and never looking back before he hears someone clear their throat just behind him.

He turns around, slowly, with a loud sigh. “Look, man, I swear it was an accident—”

“Really.” The sheriff, who turns out to be pretty young, dark-haired, and with a jawline that could kill, raises one eyebrow at Dean. Dean, whose throat goes slightly dry at the low timbre of the sheriff’s voice — not that he’s ever going to admit it, though. “Am I to add ‘fabrication of truth’ to the list of your offenses?”

“My offenses?” Dean repeats stupidly.

The sheriff tilts his head at him, hiding both of his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Well, yes. Reckless driving and destruction of police property, of course.”

Dean shakes his head, refusing to fall prey to the sheriff’s confident stance and undeniably attractive face. “I told you, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to scratch your car.”

“It’s not my car, per se,” the sheriff says, “and you’re not telling the truth. The destruction of police property _resulted_ from your reckless driving, and I am quite certain _that_ wasn’t an accident, seeing as you must have chosen to use your phone while sitting behind the wheel.”

Dean gapes at him for a second. “What? Dude, I wasn’t even driving,” he says. “I was just trying to park.”

“While talking on the phone.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Which is prohibited, as you surely know,” the sheriff says, clearly unimpressed. Speechless, Dean watches as he unbuttons his jacket and puts his hand inside, only to pull out a small note pad and a pen and look up back at Dean with a polite smile. “Now, please, if you could show me your ID.”

Dean lets out a quiet groan. “Come on. I barely touched it, just look at it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the sheriff hums, already writing something on a piece of paper, the cap of his pen stuck between his lips. “ID, please?”

“Oh, gimme a break,” Dean mutters. He should have known coming here was a bad idea. “I know it’s a whole procedure, but I’m sure you don’t need my ID.”

“Yes, I do,” the sheriff says. He looks up yet again and, for some reason, Dean notices the clear blue of his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Uhh, because it’s _me_?” Dean scoffs. He hates playing his celebrity card, but right now he’s tired and annoyed and if the sheriff wants to do it the hard way, Dean can probably beat him.

The sheriff stares, but doesn’t say anything. Dean’s eyes drop to the cap still caught between his lips, then up to his eyes again.

“Dean Winchester?” he finally says. “And yes, _the_ Dean Winchester. Hi. But if you’re gonna give me that ticket, you can forget about a selfie and an autograph, so really, I’d think it through if I were you.”

The sheriff keeps looking at him, his eyebrows coming up to his hairline. He slowly lifts his hand and takes the pen cap out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” he says, doing that head tilt thing again, eyes wide and face blank.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Just… write it. I don’t care.”

The sheriff frowns. “I still need your ID.”

Dean sighs, but goes over to his car to dig his wallet from the glove compartment. Handing the card to the sheriff, he asks, “So no autograph, then?”

Somehow, they’re standing closer now, so when the sheriff looks up from the card he’s holding and meets Dean’s gaze again, it feels much more personal. Dean lets himself admire the blue of the man’s eyes just for a moment before quickly looking away, his pulse fast in his ears.

“I have no idea whatsoever what you’re talking about, Mr. Winchester,” the sheriff says, “but you’ve got ten days to settle the fine before more drastic measures will be taken. Have a good day, sir.” 

He pushes a tiny piece of paper and the card into Dean’s hands, gives him one final look that makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat, and then turns towards his car and away from Dean.

Huh. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that guy, being the first person in _years_ , had not recognised him.

♡♡♡

“Oh my god, _you’re Dean Winchester_.”

It takes a lot of effort not to roll his eyes too hard when Dean hears the over-excited gasp right behind his back. He sends an awkward smile towards the guy behind the register and slowly turns on his heel, hands shaking, ready to face a fan. 

He can do it. He’s been doing it for almost a decade now. So what if he’s been feeling mildly out of his element the last few weeks? The fan turns out to be a young blonde girl — the usual, really. She probably doesn’t even know about the rumours. 

“Hi,” Dean says and smiles.

The girl lets out an uncontrolled squeal.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” she cries. “It’s really you!”

“So I’ve been told,” he says with another grin. He knows they go wild for his smile, and this one is no different. He can see her knees go weak and she swoons, cheeks flushed and eyes open wide.

“Is it true, then?” she asks, eager, and Dean’s heart freezes in his chest for a second. Before he can react, though, she continues, “You’re really taking a break and staying _here_ , of all places?”

Dean clears his throat. “Well, it’s my hometown. Where else would I stay?”

“Wow,” the girl gasps. “That’s _awesome_. Oh my god, I can’t wait to tell the others!”

Dean smiles lopsidedly at her. “Anything else I can do for you today? I wouldn’t wanna block the queue,” he says, gesturing towards the guy at the register.

“Oh.” The girl gapes at him for a moment, then rushes to pull a notebook out of her bag. “Could you just… one autograph…”

“No problem, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. The girl giggles nervously. “What’s your name?”

“Tammy. Could you maybe write another one for my mom? Her name’s Alice.”

“Sure thing,” Dean hums as he scrawls his name on a random page in the notebook. “So, your mom. She a fan too?”

“Oh yeaaah, we both love you,” the girl gushes, her face bright red. “My dad likes your music too, but why wouldn’t he, your music is just— it’s—”

“Thank you, Tammy,” Dean says, handing the girl her notebook with another smile. “It means a lot to me.”

“Oh no! Thank _you_!” the girl murmurs with enthusiasm.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Dean says and gives her one more wink.

The girl’s breath stutters. “O-okay! Thank you! Bye!” And then, as she’s turning and running out of the store, she screams, “ _I love you!_ ”

Dean chuckles, glad to see his hands aren’t trembling anymore. He may feel a bit rusty, but there’s nothing like the boost of confidence from an accidental meeting with an ardent fan.

A wide smile still on his lips, he turns back to the guy manning the register, only to find him sneaking curious glances at him. Dean smirks, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for the man to ask first.

“Uh,” the man stutters, realising Dean is looking at him. “Sorry. That’ll be twenty-three fifty.”

Dean throws his money on the counter and glances around, ignoring the way the cashier is still gaping at him.

“So… you’re famous, yeah?”

And there it is.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Kind of, yeah,” he says, trying not to sound too pleased with himself.

The guy drops his gaze to the counter, the points of his ears red. “Any chance I know you?” he asks awkwardly.

“Probably,” Dean hums and gathers his bags full of groceries.

The guy glares at him. “Are you known for being a dick?”

Dean huffs out a surprised laugh. “Sorry, man, I’m just teasing you. You may know my songs,” Dean says. “One was on the radio like ten minutes ago, you know, the one about road trips and fast cars—”

“ _Oh!_ ” the man exclaims. “ _You_ sing it?”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I do.”

“Dude, that’s a great song,” the cashier says. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, I’m not too big on bands. But that song comes on the radio like fifty times a day!”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean laughs.

“Sorry again. I had no idea—”

“That’s okay,” Dean says. He grins. “You’re not the only one, actually. Apparently your sheriff doesn’t know who I am, either.”

“Sheriff Novak?” The guy smirks. “That’s no surprise, he always seems pretty out of it.”

Dean hoists his bags in his arms and leans with one hip against the counter. “Does he? He seemed pretty competent when he gave me a ticket.”

The man lets out a chuckle. “He gave you a ticket? Did you tell him who you are?”

“Didn’t seem to care,” Dean huffs. “Also I did scratch his car so I admit he was kinda entitled.”

“Damn,” the man says. “How long have you been here?”

Dean looks down at his watch. “Two hours, give or take.”

“Damn,” the cashier repeats.

“Okay! Thanks for the talk, man,” Dean states, straightening. “Gotta go put these things in the freezer.”

The man nods. “Sure, sure. Uh, so you’re staying in town, right? Do you… have a place to live? My brother runs a motel, it’s nothing fancy but maybe—”

“Thanks,” Dean says, “but yeah, I’ve got a place. I used to live here.”

And with that he salutes and walks out of the store, leaving the cashier gaping after him, his jaw slack and eyes wide.

♡♡♡

It takes approximately ten minutes to get from the town centre to the cabin on the edge of the woods that used to belong to his father and is now Dean’s property. Even if he didn't want to live in the middle of nowhere and this far from the nearest coffee place (and he does — he actually has some good memories of the place), he couldn’t just sell the house to a stranger. He might have had problems with his dad when he was still alive, but John Winchester would probably come back from the grave to haunt his ass if he abandoned the cabin he put so much love into.

Dean had it cleaned right before he decided to come back, so fortunately now the place is ready to live in, with no surprises in the shape of dead animals in the basement or rats in the walls. The house looks almost exactly like Dean remembers it, though — he only lived here for a few years before moving out to start his career, but the place isn’t easy to forget, not with its wooden floors, low ceilings and massive beams with herbs and random utensils hanging from them in the kitchen. Dean used to dream about this kitchen — small and cosy, all in browns and beiges, with handmade cabinets and a huge island in the middle of the room.

He stands there now, looking around and smiling. It’s a bit dusty still, despite the recent cleaning, and most of the cabinets are eerily empty, just a few plates and bowls visible behind the plain glass doors. The fridge is much smaller than what he’s used to — and the freezer is almost nonexistent — but it’s there and it’s working, so Dean unpacks the groceries and puts everything in its place before continuing his journey around the house.

He stopped here a few days ago, dropping most of his possessions off and checking up on the cleaners, but had no time to actually look around. The house isn’t big — apart from the kitchen, there is only one bathroom, a living area, and two bedrooms, one upstairs, one just beside the kitchen. His dad used to sleep in the smaller room downstairs while he and Sam lived in the other one. Dean doesn’t go into his dad’s old bedroom just yet — feels weird, somehow, and he definitely doesn’t intend to sleep in there. He checks the upstairs one, though, and is happy to notice his new bed — king size, sleek and modern, its frame low above the hardwood floor which leaves more space for the slanted ceiling. There’s no sign of their old singles anywhere, just as there are no posters on the walls, no school books on the shelves, no toys cluttering the desk and every corner of the room. The cleaners did a good job.

Dean toes off his shoes on the way to the bathroom, the stairs creaking as he steps down. Most of his toiletries should already be in there, so he only grabs the toothbrush he’s just bought and closes the door behind him.

At the sight of the bathtub, he lets out a heavy sigh. 

“Fuck, you’re tiny,” he mutters, stripping off all of his clothes and bending to pour water into the tub. It takes just a few minutes to fill the entire thing and soon the small room is getting hot and steamy despite the wide crack under the door. 

He has no idea how his father could fit in this tub, especially considering that John Winchester was much bulkier than his sons. Dean curses under his breath as he tries to find a comfortable position, but soon realizes it’s impossible — there’s just no way he can make both halves of his body fit if he doesn’t want to spill water everywhere. 

The tub in his old apartment could fit two people, no problem. It _did_ fit two people, from time to time.

Dean manages to spend five minutes lying motionless, but soon his legs are cramping and his upper body is getting cold, so he quickly gets out, sighing. This definitely won’t do, he thinks as he dries himself off and puts on boxers and a shirt. Maybe it’s high time he finally realises his dreams and installs a hot tub.

Humming to himself, Dean goes out into the backyard, looks around, and smirks.

He spends the rest of the evening browsing the Home Depot website, contacting electricians, and spending big sums of money on his new hot tub.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not as easy as it would seem, Dean finds out, to get reacquainted with one’s childhood town.

For some reason, he doesn’t feel as comfortable being himself here, not like he did back in Austin. Everyone knows everyone here, they have for years, and it doesn’t really matter that Dean did live here for some time too, or that he’s famous and rich now — most people aren’t overly enthusiastic about him being here. They just… tolerate him and mostly leave him alone, which is not something he’s gotten used to over the past decade.

He spends the next few days in the house, slowly moving in, cleaning, making the place feel like a home again. He also oversees the building team that comes every day to install the hot tub in his backyard — it turns out it doesn’t take too long, but it still requires a lot of different people to come and talk to him about things like concrete pads and hard-wired circuits and water vacuums. 

It gets boring after those few days, though. He’s used to being busy with touring or recording or meeting other famous people. He tries writing something new, but the inspiration keeps escaping him as soon as he sits down with a guitar. 

He’s almost ready to call Charlie back and ask her what to do next when he runs into Benny Lafitte at the grocery store. They used to be friends all those years ago and Dean probably wouldn’t even recognise him if it wasn’t for the wolf tattoo on the side of his neck and the way his eyes narrowed when he smiled.

When Benny suggests visiting the Roadhouse for a beer or two, Dean really doesn’t have it in himself to say no.

♡♡♡

“So you and Andrea, huh?”

Benny sends him a wide smile and raises his bottle. “Yup. Goin’ on three years now.”

“You always had a soft spot for her,” Dean chuckles and sips his own beer. “Even back in school.”

“Duh. Have you met her?” Benny laughs, shaking his head, but Dean can see adoration written on his face. “But enough about me. How’re you, brother? Big world’s treating you right, I’ve heard.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m not complaining.”

Benny raises one eyebrow at him. “You ain’t pooping rainbows out of your ass, either. Something wrong?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “What? No, of course not. Just, you know. Taking a break before my next album. Need some time for myself to find inspiration and all that shit.”

“And all that shit,” Benny repeats, eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “I’ve read you cancelled your tour or something, though?”

“It happens sometimes,” Dean says with another shrug, but he doesn’t look at Benny when he does, glancing around the pub instead.

The Roadhouse is full of people, older and younger, just as it used to be when Dean was nineteen and not even legal to drink here, but his dad’s friend Ellen ran the place and sometimes looked away when her daughter Jo sneaked a bottle into Dean’s waiting hands. Ellen is still here, currently manning the counter, but Jo has left town to look for another job. Dean talked with Ellen when he and Benny first came in and was glad she recognised and welcomed him as if no time has passed. 

He’s about to say something — to start another topic, nothing about his life as a rockstar, thank you very much — when he notices the young waitress standing at the table nearby and glaring at the guy sitting there. He says something — Dean can’t really hear because it’s loud in the pub — and the girl blushes furiously, her fingers white as she squeezes the notepad in her hands. Dean turns in his seat towards them just in time to notice the second guy’s hand patting the waitress’ hip.

“Hey,” Dean calls out.

He’s loud enough for the guys and the waitress to look over at him. They all do a double take and Dean nods.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you. Mind keeping your hands to yourself, pal?” he asks.

The waitress mutters something and walks away quickly, but the guys don’t even notice, focused on Dean.

“You got a problem, kid?” the first guy asks, frowning.

“I do, yeah,” Dean says. “Tell your friend to be polite or I’ll come over there and kick your ass.”

“Dean,” Benny warns.

Dean ignores him.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” the second guy, the one that got handsy, says. “Do yourself a favour and get back to your boyfriend, can’t you see he’s trying to talk to you?”

Dean shakes his head with a dry laugh. “Just stop touching people without their permission, got it?”

“Dean.” Suddenly, Ellen appears by their table. Dean looks up at her, then notices the waitress glaring at him from behind the counter. “That’s enough. Thank you for your input, now settle down.”

“Does it happen often?” Dean asks. “For god’s sake, Ellen, if I were you, I’d kick them all out.”

“You’re not me, though,” Ellen says. “Please behave, I don’t want any problems.”

She stalks off. Dean raises his eyebrows at the waitress who scoffs and turns away.

“Wow. That’s what you get for trying to be a gentleman, apparently,” Dean murmurs, turning back to Benny and his beer. 

“It’s not that simple in a small town like this,” Benny says. “You probably don’t remember.”

“Whatever,” Dean says and drains the rest of his bottle.

For the most part, he forgets about the scene for the rest of the evening — the alcohol helps, and he and the guys from the nearby table avoid each other as much as they can. Benny is as entertaining as he used to be, and soon enough they run into Victor and Ash, both of whom went to school with Dean. They drink even more and play some pool, reminiscing and gossiping. Dean learns Ash is making big money by creating computer games but he still lives in the same town, while Victor joined the sheriff's department, served for a few years, and then resigned and opened his own hardware store. Dean learns the current sheriff’s full name — it’s Castiel Novak, apparently, and he’s been a sheriff only for the last year and a half. When Dean tries asking more about him, the guys quickly get bored and bombard him with questions about Dean’s life as a rockstar, which he escapes by offering to go buy more beer.

He notices he’s more than a little drunk now when he keeps bumping into people on his way to the counter, his vision a bit tunneled and his speech slurred. He chuckles as he orders more alcohol and doesn’t realise he’s talking with the waitress from before until she glares at him again and stalks off.

“Jus’ trying to help!” he calls after her.

“I can take care of myself, thanks very much!” the girl shouts back and disappears behind the backdoor.

“Sure,” Dean mumbles, gathers the four bottles of beer in his arms, and turns away from the counter.

And walks right into someone.

“Oops,” he laughs as some beer spills onto the floor. When he looks up, he’s met with a blue stare and five-o’clock shadow on a strong jaw.

“Mr. Winchester,” the sheriff says slowly, squinting at him.

Dean grins. “Sheriff! Hi. Sorry. As you were,” he murmurs and walks past him.

“Are you sure—” the sheriff starts and Dean looks over his shoulder to send yet another charming smile at the guy — fuck, but he’s attractive — and then bumps into another body.

Turns out, this one isn’t as attractive.

“Watch where you’re going.”

It’s the guy from earlier, the one whose friend grabbed the waitress. Dean sends him a glare, but doesn’t stop walking.

“You watch where you’re going,” he retorts cleverly. He reaches the pool table where his friends are waiting for him and notices the other guy is there as well, standing on the other side with a cue in his hands. “Hey. Give that back.”

“I think this place has just gotten too small for the three of us,” the man behind him says. 

Dean stares at him. “Cool. Take your friend and leave, then.”

“Dean, come on,” Benny murmurs, coming closer and taking the beer bottles from Dean’s arms. “Let’s go sit down.”

“Oh no, we aren't done playing,” Dean protests.

“You are now,” the second man says.

“Give me that cue,” Dean says.

“Back off, dude,” the guy warns. “I’m only gonna say this once.”

“I will when you give me back that cue and go away. We need to finish the game,” Dean says. He feels Victor trying to catch his arm and pull him back, but he’s not having any of this. Those guys are exactly the type of people he hated when he was younger and still does — they think the entire world belong to them just because they’re tall and well-built and wear leather jackets. Dean still meets guys like them at the parties he’s sometimes invited to — and more than once, a guy like that felt it was okay to touch where he had no right to touch.

So yeah, now it may be kind of personal and he’s not backing off, not yet.

“Who do you think you are, dude?” one of the men asks with a scoff. “Just leave us alone and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh, we’re having a problem right now, alright,” Dean says and comes closer.

“Take your pretty face somewhere else, kid. This clearly isn’t the place for you.”

“And who’re you to decide which place is for me?” Dean jeers. 

“And who are _you_?” the guy retorts.

“Seriously, dude,” says another voice, belonging to someone from the crowd that’s gathered around them. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“Just let it go, man,” someone says.

“Hey, isn’t he that singer? I think he’s a singer or something.”

“No one fucking cares who he is, not in here—”

“I think he might be,” the second guy wonders out loud, a pool cue still in his hands, taunting Dean. “Yeah, I think that’s his face.”

“You don’t know me,” Dean snarls.

“I’ve read about you, kid,” the man continues, as if not hearing him, “about you and your little boy adventures—”

Dean throws a punch even before he realises his body is moving.

Almost immediately, he gets two in return. The second one makes him stumble drunkenly backwards, right into the first guy. Dean doesn’t even have time to react when the guy grips his shoulder, turns him around, and strikes him across the face.

Dean falls heavily against the pool table, his vision dark and the noise unbearable in his ears. He blinks repeatedly, trying to shake the confusion, but then someone grabs him again, even harder. 

“Gerroff!” Dean growls and tries to push the person holding him away.

“Stand still,” someone hisses at him. Through the haze in his mind, Dean realises it’s not any of his attackers. “Turn around.”

Dean tries to free himself, but the grip on his arms is too strong.

“Now,” the low voice grunts.

His vision clears just enough to let him see the light brown uniform right in front of him. Then, he’s being manhandled into facing the pool table while something cold and heavy closes around his wrists behind his back.

“Come with me,” the voice that can only belong to the sheriff growls in his ear.

Dean doesn’t have it in himself to protest.

♡♡♡

Dean doesn’t remember walking out of the pub, and he barely remembers getting into the backseat of the car and falling asleep there. He must be drunker than he’d thought he was, he muses when something grabs his shoulder and shakes him, hard.

“Wake up.”

“Whaaa—” Dean sits up and tries to blink the sleep and the haziness away. 

“Get up,” a rough voice says.

It takes him a few seconds, but then he can finally concentrate his gaze enough to recognise the sheriff standing right in front of him. Dean smirks.

“You again,” he mutters.

“Come on, I am not going to carry you,” the sheriff says and pulls on his arm.

Dean tumbles out of the car and lets himself be dragged forward. “Where’re we goin’?” he slurs. “Where’re you takin’ us, sheriff?”

“I am taking _you_ ,” the sheriff answers, “to jail.”

Dean’s feet are a few moments slower than his brain, but finally they stop, making the sheriff turn around to pull on his arm again.

“ _What_?” Dean asks. “Why? No, you’re not.”

“Yes. I am,” the sheriff says with what Dean identifies as a sigh, and then walks over to him, catches his wrists, still bound with handcuffs, and pushes him forward. “You need to sober up.”

“That’s— that’s not fair,” Dean protests. “Why am I the only one?”

“Because you’re in the worst condition.”

“But I— I didn’t start that fight!”

The sheriff huffs a laugh. “Yes, Mr. Winchester, you did.”

“Well,” Dean says. “Maaaaaybe I threw the first punch or something, but they started it.”

“Of course,” the sheriff says. They reach the low building at the end of the street and stand there for the moment it takes the sheriff to find the keys and unlock the door. Then, Dean is being walked into the sheriff's department, along the short row of desks and towards the cells.

“Oh come _on_ ,” Dean groan. “First the ticket, and now this? Gimme a break.”

“I will,” the sheriff says good-humouredly, “when you start behaving like a proper citizen, and not like a child that’s allowed to do everything.”

“I’m not going in there,” Dean says and stops in front of the open cell. “Forget it.”

“You are,” the sheriff says and his grip on Dean’s wrists tightens as he pushes him forward again, not so gently this time.

“Dude, no,” Dean slurs. “I’m fine, okay? I don’t need to _sober up_ , just lemme go and I’ll—”

“Stop,” the sheriff warns, voice dropping dangerously lower. “Don’t make it worse. Just go in.”

“No,” Dean groans and tries to free himself.

It takes the sheriff approximately three seconds to push him against the bars of the cell. Dean pants, his head swimming, and he turns it to look at the man with a breathless laugh.

“Dude, is that a gun or are you just—”

He stops when the sheriff pushes an elbow into his back, his other hand coming up to show Dean a gun.

“As I said,” he whispers against Dean’s ear, “don’t make it worse than it already is, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean doesn’t have time to protest any more — suddenly he’s being pushed into the cell and when he turns, the door slams closed right behind him. 

“Dean,” he says with a grin.

The sheriff tilts his head at him, confused.

“My name’s Dean,” Dean repeats. “Mr. Winchester was my dad.”

Instead of answering, the sheriff lets out a heavy sigh and turns to walk away.

“Hey!” Dean calls. “You’re gonna just leave me here?” 

The lights turn off. The sheriff stops at the door and throws one last look at Dean. “Sleep it off, Dean.”

♡♡♡

He does.

Somehow, he manages to fall asleep right there, on the cold hard bench in the empty cell, and he only wakes up when he smells coffee.

He sits up, groggy, throat dry like sandpaper, head heavy but clearer than before. When he slowly lifts his eyes, the first thing he sees is the sheriff, standing outside the cell and looking straight at him.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Dean mutters and rubs a hand over his face. Oh, what he’d do for a cup of fresh coffee right now.

The sheriff ignores his question. “How are you feeling?” he asks instead.

“Been better,” Dean groans.

The man huffs out a laugh. “I see.”

“Are you going to let me go now?” Dean asks and stands up carefully. He doesn’t feel dizzy anymore, though, just tired and thirsty. His head and jaw throb dully, too, but he manages to push the ache away for now.

“Let you go? No,” the sheriff says. “Not yet.”

Dean wanders closer. “Dude, you can’t just keep me here forever,” Dean says. “It’s probably against the law or something.”

“I am not going to keep you here forever,” the sheriff says and takes a sip of his coffee. Dean stares at the cup in his hands and licks his lips. “Just until the morning.”

“It’s not morning yet?” Dean asks, a bit weakly. “Feels like morning.”

“A few more hours,” the sheriff says.

Dean lets out a groan. “Okay, look. I’ve got money, okay? I’m gonna pay my own bail or whatever.”

“Well. Yes, you are. Just not now.”

Dean spreads his arms. “Come on. Look, I’m sober now. I’m sorry, okay? For that fight, or whatever.”

“I know you are,” the sheriff answers with a small smile, then lifts the cup to sip some more coffee.

Dean swallows. “Sheriff Novak, right? What was it… Cassiel Novak?”

The sheriff stands up straighter. “Castiel.”

“Okay, I’m gonna call you Cas,” Dean decides.

“Do not call me Cas.”

“Look, Cas,” Dean says and can’t help but grin when he sees the glare the sheriff sends his way. Oh, he’s starting to enjoy this now. “Can I get some coffee, at least? I’ve got a hell of a hangover.”

“I bet you do,” Castiel says, but doesn’t move.

“Are you always such a dick?” Dean asks. “Or only at four in the morning?”

“It’s five.”

“So the answer’s yes.” Dean goes back to sit on the bench. “Thanks for nothing, sheriff Asstiel.”

Next time Dean looks up, the sheriff is turning away and leaving. Dean curses and lies down on the bench with a loud groan.

“Fuck you!” he yells.

He still may be a little bit drunk, but he’s never gonna admit it.

A moment later, though, he hears footsteps again. When he sits up, he sees the sheriff is coming back with a bottle of water in his hand. Dean jumps up and reaches through the bars for it.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says, voice laden with sarcasm, when Dean is busy chugging down most of the water. 

“Yeah,” Dean gasps. “Sure.”

“Two more hours,” the sheriff says, sends Dean a meaningful look — one that Dean is too tired to decipher — and walks away again.

♡♡♡

The sound of keys is merciless to Dean’s ears, but at least the door to the cell finally swings open and he’s free to go. He hesitates and looks over at Castiel.

“Go on,” the sheriff says. “Alfie is already getting your bill ready.”

Dean walks into the main room, the sheriff close behind him, the keys still jangling loudly in his hand. The sky visible through the high windows is grey and getting lighter with every second, and there is a young man sitting at one of the desks, staring at the computer.

“Uh, hi,” Dean says.

The man — more of a boy, really, his face innocent and open — looks up and and smiles at him.

“Good morning! You must be our guest. Dean Winchester, right?”

Dean makes a face. “Well. Yeah.”

“I’m almost done, just give me a minute,” he says and looks back down at the computer.

Dean hears movement behind his back and looks over his shoulder, surprised to see Castiel standing close to him, a cup of coffee in his hand. Dean raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“For you,” Castiel says and hands the cup to him.

Dean’s eyes widen. “What?”

“You wanted coffee?” Castiel asks and nods towards the cup. “This is coffee. I hope you like it black.”

“Dude, yes,” Dean gasps and eagerly reaches for the cup. He hears the sheriff laugh but doesn’t see his smile, already gulping down the contents of the cup, so deliciously hot and bitter. 

“Better?” Castiel asks when Dean comes up for air and slides his hand across his lips.

“Much. Thank you,” he says, “really. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really.” Dean follows the sheriff when he walks away, towards the other desk. “I was a huge pain in the ass, I know I was. You must think I’m the worst person ever.”

“I don’t,” Castiel says. “I understand why you did what you did, but as a sheriff, I cannot approve of it. Also, you were unlucky, picking a fight just when I was right there.”

Dean chuckles quietly. “Yeah. My bad.” He sips the coffee and watches as Castiel sits down at his desk and starts browsing through some papers. “Um. Now that I'm thinking.”

Castiel looks up at him, face interested. His eyes look very blue in the early light of the morning.

“Were you, um, planning to stay at the pub yesterday? I mean, I know you were, that’s a stupid question, I saw you going to buy drinks,” Dean mutters. “But, like, I didn’t ruin your, um, date night or anything like that by starting that fight?”

Castiel doesn’t smile, but there’s good humour in his eyes. “No date, no,” he says. “Some drinks, maybe.”

“Uh, sorry, then. That you had to take care of my drunk ass instead of enjoying your night”

Castiel keeps looking at him. “I did enjoy my night.”

Dean blinks, taken aback, but before he can respond, Alfie calls for him from his desk. Dean sends Castiel a sheepish smile and walks over to settle the bill. Castiel’s phone starts ringing when Dean’s paying and he leaves the room without another glance at Dean.

“By the way,” Alfie says, distracting Dean from following the sheriff with his eyes, “I really like your music. Could you sign something for me?”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean notices it has started raining outside when he’s pouring his second drink.

He stands up from the couch, leaving the laptop with all the tabs still open on the coffee table, and walks over to the window. It’s not just _raining_ — it’s an honest to god downpour, the clouds all grey and bloated, the heavy white mist hanging low over the peaks visible from where the cabin is situated. 

He’s contemplating going out onto the porch to cover the hot tub — almost ready to be used — when he hears a loud knock on the front door.

Apparently someone’s crazy enough to go out in weather like this.

To his astonishment, the first thing he sees when he opens the door is an expanse of dark brown fabric stretched right in front of his eyes. Dean takes a step back, eyebrows raised.

That’s when the person standing below the soaked coat — because this is what it turns out to be — lowers their arms and looks at Dean with their deep blue gaze.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” the sheriff greets, voice low.

“Cas,” Dean says, surprised. “Hi.”

“I told you not to call me Cas, didn’t I?” 

Dean grins. “And I told you not to call me Mr. Winchester. An eye for an eye, man.”

“Okay, then,” the sheriff answers with an exasperated sigh. “Hello, Dean.”

Something warm worms its way inside Dean’s stomach at the voice, but he ignores it. “Hey, Cas.”

The sheriff scoffs, rolling his eyes, and then, without another word, steps inside the house, inadvertently pushing Dean with him, as well. Dean catches a whiff of the rain and Cas’ cologne, but lets him in without comment.

“You often take walks in the rain?” Dean asks.

Castiel sends him a sullen look, then gazes around curiously, the completely wet coat still in his hands.

“It caught me off guard,” he says. “I was already on my way.”

Dean nods, then reaches out. “Give me that, I’ll hang it somewhere to dry.” 

He hears Castiel following him deeper into the house, but he stops when Dean goes into the bathroom to hang the coat over the bathtub. Absent-mindedly, he glances into the mirror above the sink and brushes a hand through his hair to make it look more presentable. 

“So,” he says loudly, and can hear Castiel shuffle in the corridor, trying to catch his words. “You were on your way here when the storm caught you.”

Dean goes back to join the sheriff outside the bathroom. Now, without the ugly coat in his hands, Dean notices the clothes the other man is wearing — worn-out dark jeans and a pale blue button-down, something that would look formal on anybody else but is strikingly casual on Castiel’s surprisingly well-built form. Dean, used to Castiel’s usual uniform, stares for a little bit too long and only looks away when Cas speaks up.

“Yes. I was in my car, admittedly, but even a few steps in this rain can leave you… well, looking like this,” he murmurs, gesturing to himself.

Dean clears his throat. “What I was trying to ask was why you were even on your way here in the first place,” he says.

Castiel stands up straighter, as if trying to look taller and more serious despite the state he’s in. 

“I heard that you’re having something installed in your backyard,” he says, eyes sharp.

Dean raises his brows. “Yeah. A hot tub.”

“Do you have a permit?” Cas asks.

Dean baulks. “Uh, no? It’s in my _backyard_. I didn’t think I needed one.”

Cas nods, as if he has expected this. “Well, you do. Unless your hot tub is less than two feet deep, which I doubt it is, you require an electrical and a building permit.”

“Well, shit,” Dean mutters. “It didn’t even cross my mind, honestly. And not even one person mentioned anything while installing it.”

Castiel sighs and rubs a hand on his forehead. “So, it’s already done? The installation is finished?”

“Mostly,” Dean says. “I mean, the tub is ready and the plumbing is done, I’m just waiting for them to finish with the electric system and—”

“Good,” Cas says. “Tell them to stop, then.”

It takes Dean a second to realise what Cas is saying. “What? But it’s not done.”

“And it’s not going to be,” Cas says, “until you get an electrical permit.”

“What about the plumbing, then?”

“I will have someone sent here for an inspection. If they approve of everything, I will overlook the fact that it was done after the installation.”

“Wow, thanks,” Dean says sarcastically. “And how long will it take?”

“Considering the fact that we don’t have a specialist on site,” Cas says, “I’m thinking a week, maybe two, at most.”

Dean gapes at him. “Two weeks.”

Cas nods solemnly. “Yes.”

“Dude, no,” Dean protests. “I’m paying almost twice as much for the thing to be installed extra quickly because the company had been booked for someone else and—” He stops when he notices the look of disinterest on the sheriff’s face. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Castiel opens his arms. “How am I an asshole? I _just_ told you I will overlook a rule for you, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna make me lose my money and wait two more freaking weeks for one hot tub to be ready!”

Cas glares at him. “I am the sheriff. The rules are there for a reason and I will not treat you any differently just because you’re— you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks.

Cas gestures towards him. “You may think everything can be bought, or that you’ll be treated differently just because you’re what? A famous singer?”

“I don’t think everything can be bought,” Dean barks, hands turning into fists by his sides. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This is the third time you’ve tried to use your celebrity status to get yourself out of trouble,” Cas shoots back. He takes a slow step towards Dean, his eyes a dangerous shade of deep blue.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Dean says. “I might’ve joked about it when you gave me that ticket, but I didn’t even mention being _a famous singer_ , as you nicely put it, when you fucking arrested me. Or now. Not even a word.”

There’s a lovely pink tint on Cas’ cheeks, Dean notices as the sheriff comes even closer, eyes almost on the same level as Dean’s. He’s not used to people being as tall as him and, for some reason, the new discovery is making his spine tingle.

“No, but you just _had to_ mention paying double for the tub,” Cas says angrily.

“That’s because it’s the truth!” Dean exclaims. “For god’s sake, I feel like you’re making a much bigger problem out of this than it should be.”

Cas’ lips are pulled tight, his eyes stormy. “You need a permit,” he says in a low voice. “Those are the rules, Dean.”

“Well, fuck your rules,” Dean shoots back. “And fuck you.”

There are a few seconds of silence — Dean watches in fascination as Cas’ eyes darken, his lips parting on a loud inhale — and then, suddenly, the quiet between them dissolves as a deafening boom of thunder sounds outside. It’s so loud Dean is sure it must have split the sky in half, and it makes both of them jump, up and away from each other, only now realising how close they have been standing.

“Jesus,” Dean gasps. “I think I just had a heart attack.”

Cas sends him a murderous look. “Do not joke about that.”

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. He leaves Cas standing in the middle of the corridor and walks into the kitchen to look through the window. The rain is pounding against the glass, the sky dark with clouds and the wind bending trees as if they were matchsticks. He has no idea how he didn’t notice what was happening outside when he was busy arguing with Cas. “Whoa. If you thought it was bad before, good luck going out in _this_.”

When he turns back again, he notices Cas has followed him into the kitchen and is standing near the doors, a gloomy expression on his face.

“I’ll manage,” he says dully.

“Dude, no,” Dean says. “You’re not going out _now_. I’ve got no intention of being responsible for your death.”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas snaps.

“You will,” Dean says and reaches for two cups from the cupboard, “because you’ll stay here and drink coffee with me.”

Cas squints at him. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean sends him a dirty look. “You had coffee the night you put me in jail.”

“I don’t drink coffee _at this hour_ ,” Cas specifies. “I have problems sleeping if I do.”

“It was the middle of the night,” Dean says.

“And I was awake the whole time, wasn’t I?” Cas deadpans. 

Dean puts the cups back with a scoff. 

“I could drink tea,” Cas suggests.

“I don’t have any tea,” Dean mutters.

When he looks at the sheriff, he’s gazing through the window, a worried frown on his face. Dean sighs.

“Come on,” he says. “I was about to have another drink, anyway.”

He heads to the living room, Cas close on his heels. The drink he had poured himself before Cas arrived is sitting on the coffee table beside the open laptop, so he reaches for it and gestures to Cas.

“Ice?” he asks.

Cas squints again. “Is that whisky?”

“Yeah.” Dean huffs a laugh. “But I need ice ‘cause it’s gone warm while we were… talking.”

“You were drinking before I arrived?” When Dean hums an affirmative, Cas adds, “It’s barely six in the afternoon.”

“So? It’s perfect.” Dean shrugs. “I needed something stronger.” He eyes the laptop which still has all the tabs he’d been reading before open, walks closer, and gently shuts it. When he looks up again, though, Cas isn’t even looking at the computer.

“Okay,” he says slowly, eyes on the drink in Dean’s hands. “No ice, then.”

Dean smirks. “Perfect.”

♡♡♡

Somehow, they end up upstairs, Dean showing Cas the view from the wide slanted window in his room. The storm has quieted down some time ago, and now only the rain is still beating against the roof and the glass, its fresh smell making Dean dizzy almost as much as the whisky is. The sky outside is pitch black, the trees surrounding the cabin blocking any possible stars that would otherwise be visible among the clouds. 

“It’s so quiet,” Cas muses, back leaning against the shelf as he gazes through the window.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and sips at his drink. It must be his third. Or maybe fourth. “I kinda have trouble sleeping in here, though, I’m so used to the noise outside,” he says with a snort.

Cas sends him a curious look. “Where did you live before?” he asks. “L.A.?”

Dean laughs. “Nah. I’m not _that_ famous. I have an apartment in Austin.”

“I don’t know,” Cas murmurs, eyes hooded when he looks at Dean. The room’s only source of light is a small bedside lamp and Dean can’t properly see Cas’ face nor his eyes, but he’s sure they must look much more relaxed now that he’s been drinking for the last hour or two. “You’re pretty famous.”

Dean’s too deep in his thoughts to realise what Cas’ words mean at first. When he does, he turns to stare at him, mouth agape.

“So you do know me!” he says, beaming.

Cas shakes his head with a lopsided smile. “Well. I do now.”

“You had to know me when you first met me,” Dean says. He crosses the space between them to look Cas in the eye, making them stand almost toe to toe. “After all, _I am pretty famous_.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but Dean can see a small smile on his lips. “No, Dean. I didn’t recognise you.”

“Like, my face?” Dean asks. “What about my name?”

“There are a lot of Winchesters in the world, you know.”

“Oh, but there’s only one me, sweetheart,” Dean teases.

When Cas looks up at him, there’s something strange on his face. “I’m starting to realise that.”

Dean swallows. This is dangerous, he thinks, and takes a small step back, his eyes still locked on Cas. Playing the game is fun until it’s not, he knows that now, and it doesn’t matter who Cas is — or who he _isn’t_ — he needs to be more careful.

But then Cas follows him. With a slow step forward, he reaches Dean again, curiosity and something more serious, something predatory written on his handsome face as he gazes up at Dean. 

“So,” Dean begins. His voice is raspy, so he clears his throat and takes another step back. “You looked me up, didn’t you.”

Cas tilts his head. “Maybe.”

“And what did you think?” Dean asks. 

“About you?”

“About my music? Did you like it?”

Cas purses his lips, involuntarily drawing Dean’s attention to them. “Not really what I usually listen to,” he admits, “but yes, I liked it.”

Dean grins. “Good. You want an autograph now? A photo op?”

Cas’ eyes widen comically when he glares at him. “The fact that I enjoyed your music doesn’t necessarily mean I am automatically your fan.”

“Ouch, Cas. You’re wounding me,” Dean snorts.

“It’s the truth.”

“So you’re not going to let me finish building my tub? A true fan would, you know.”

“You can finish when you get a permit. I don’t make the rules, Dean.”

“Yeah, you do.” Dean shuffles closer again. “You’re the sheriff.”

“It doesn’t mean I make the rules,” Cas protests.

“But I don’t like the rules.”

“As long as you live in my town, you have to follow them,” Cas says. “That means no reckless driving. No brawls in the pub. No forbidden hot tubs.”

“That’s it,” Dean says. “You just lost any right to ever get into my awesome tub.”

Cas huffs out a surprised laugh. “And what makes you think I’d want to get into it?”

“Everyone would,” Dean says proudly. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Just imagine it,” Dean says, grinning. “Warm night, a cold drink in your hand, and bubbles.”

“Bubbles,” Cas repeats, amusement in his voice.

“Yes, Cas. Bubbles.”

“Is it a big tub?” he asks.

“You bet it is,” Dean says. “Bigger than the one in my old apartment, and that means something.”

Cas’ tongue sneaks out to lick his lips and Dean follows it with his eyes, fascinated. He raises the glass and sips his drink, Cas’ eyes still glued to his.

“Wanna see it?” Dean asks after another beat of silence. Cas doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes good-naturedly and nods slightly. Dean grins. “I knew it.”

It takes them a bit longer than it usually would to walk downstairs, Dean’s head a little heavy and his vision a bit funny. Cas is close behind him when they step out into the backyard.

“It stopped raining,” Cas muses.

“Who cares,” Dean jokes. “Look at this beauty.”

They shuffle closer to the unfinished tub. Dean slides his hand over the gleaming wood and makes a face at the mud surrounding it. 

“It’ll need some cleaning before it’s ready to be used,” he mutters.

“And you’ll need a permit, first,” Cas reminds.

Dean groans. “When are you gonna let it go?” 

“When you get one,” Cas responds and leans on his hands on the tub, close enough to Dean that their palms are almost touching.

Dean doesn’t move away.

They stand like this for a moment, Cas staring at the trees in front of them and Dean sneaking glances at his profile. When Cas moves, his fingers brush the side of Dean’s hand and they look at each other in silence.

Dean knows he should look away, but he doesn’t. “So, what do you think? Is it big enough for your liking, sheriff?”

Cas’ face is perfectly serious when he answers, “I wouldn’t know.”

Dean searches his eyes, then quickly looks away and clears his throat. “Should we head back?”

“Of course,” Cas says quietly.

They get inside and Dean locks the door behind them. Before he can suggest they could hang out in the living room again, Cas is climbing the stairs already, so Dean follows him without a word, eyes sliding all over Cas’ body right in front of him. He almost walks into him when Cas stops right before Dean’s room, though, and has to reach out and catch the doorframe behind Cas to stay upright.

“My shoes are all muddy,” Cas murmurs.

“Take them off, then.”

Cas shoots him a look, then bends down and slips out of his shoes. Dean stumbles to do the same, fingers trembling as they work on the laces. There’s a heat developing deep inside him that has nothing to do with the alcohol and a lot to do with the way Cas keeps looking at him, eyes calm but intense.

Cas pads into the room, socked feet soft on the carpet. Dean follows closely behind him. There’s a quiet click when Dean closes the door which makes Cas send him another look.

Dean clears his throat when he feels like choking on the tension in the room. Cas busies himself with wandering around, fingers gentle as they brush the spines of the books on Dean’s shelf, his wide back turned to Dean.

“So, uh. How long have you been a sheriff?” Dean asks.

“Almost two years,” Castiel says, tone flat.

“Cool. Do you like it?”

“For the most part, yes.”

Dean walks back to the window. “For the most part?”

“I don’t like it when stubborn people give me unnecessary trouble.”

“Hey, at least we’re making your job more interesting,” Dean jokes. “Without people like me, you’d never get to arrest anyone.”

“I doubt that.” Cas huffs out a laugh. 

Dean hears his footsteps, and then sees his reflection in the dark window. He doesn’t move to face him, though.

“At least I’m famous,” he says with another chuckle. “And handsome.”

“Yes, you are,” Cas answers immediately.

Dean’s throat goes dry, and he meets Cas’ gaze in the window. Slowly, he turns around, peering at the man in front of him, excitement and alarm battling inside him.

“I’m famous?” he asks carefully.

“Yes.” Cas nods, then, after a beat, adds, “And handsome.”

Cas’ face when he’s looking up at him is honest and open, eyes wide and dark, lips slightly parted. Dean takes a tiny step forward and notices the way Cas’ throat moves when he swallows.

He takes another step, quick and certain this time, catches Cas’ face in his hands, and kisses him on the lips.

Cas growls deep in his throat and stands up on his toes, his fingers coming up to grip Dean’s arms and pull him closer. Dean can feel his pulse in his ears, especially when Cas almost immediately parts his lips and then he’s kissing Dean so deep, he can feel it in his fingertips. Cas’ tongue is powerful in Dean’s mouth, making Dean melt in the spot right there, in Cas’ arms, his knees going weak and breath getting shallow.

They come up for air and Dean has trouble opening his eyes, but when he does, Cas’ face is right there, his lips red and shiny, eyes so dark the blue is barely visible. Dean doesn’t think, he just moves closer again and seals their lips back together. Cas licks into him eagerly, making Dean moan and grip his hips to steady himself.

“Fuck,” Dean whimpers as Cas leaves a trail of wet kisses along his jawline. He sucks at a spot behind Dean’s ear and Dean moans again, grabs Cas’ hair and keeps his head in place until his skin feels almost too tender under beneath Cas’ wonderful lips.

Then, Cas suddenly moves away and looks at him again. 

“Okay,” he says, and Dean has no chance to answer before Cas puts his hands on his shoulder, turns them around, and pushes Dean towards the bed.

“Wha—” 

He’s being pushed down onto the mattress, Cas towering over him, hands gentle on his face as he leans down to kiss him on the lips again. 

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers against Dean’s ear.

“What?” Dean asks, befuddled.

“Tell me to stop, Dean,” Cas hums and Dean feels his hot tongue back on his jaw.

His hands almost involuntarily grip Cas by the hips and draw him closer, so that he’s standing between Dean’s legs.

“Don’t,” Dean manages, and his hands move up, brushing the warm skin beneath Cas’ shirt.

“Don’t?” Cas whispers, and licks Dean’s ear.

Dean shivers. He can’t stop his fingers that move to the front of Cas’ jeans, playing with the buckle of his belt. Cas’ hips jerk forward, gentle enough not to startle Dean, but still managing to draw a breathless moan from his lips. 

“Don’t stop,” Dean says, remembering he still hasn’t answered.

Cas breathes against his ear, loud and hot, when Dean’s hand moves lower, slowly, _slowly_ , and palms Cas’ prominent hardness through his pants. It feels so dangerous to be feeling this again, dangerous and intoxicating. Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing short and hands unsure as he touches Cas, makes him fall apart with just his fingers.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas sighs, and moves to kiss him on the lips again. He swallows Dean’s breaths, holds Dean’s head as he licks and bites at his lips. 

He’s too far away for Dean to touch him any longer, now, and Dean lets his hands fall down and grip the edge of the mattress. He’s hard, painfully so, but he refuses to use his own hands, now that Cas is so close.

The kiss ends abruptly, Cas’ fingers disappearing from his hair. Dean hears a quiet thud, opens his eyes, and his breath catches in his throat.

Cas is on his knees, looking up at Dean with a hungry expression on his face. He moves, slides his hands slowly up Dean’s knees and thighs, gently spreads Dean’s legs further apart.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, eyes locked on Dean’s.

Dean swallows hard. “Don’t stop,” he repeats and watches as Cas’ eyes darken.

Cas inches closer and then there are nimble fingers on Dean’s fly, and Dean thinks he’s dying, what with the way his heart is hammering in his chest, loud enough he’s sure Cas can hear it as well. Cas needs just a few seconds to open Dean’s jeans, and then he’s moving down in one fluid motion, lips touching Dean through his boxers, already straining, wet with precome. Dean feels Cas’ tongue flat against him, hot and heavy, his quick breathing making Dean twitch with excitement.

He doesn’t remember sliding his fingers through Cas’ hair, but soon he’s keeping his head in place with one hand, gentle enough to give him a way out if he wanted to. It doesn’t seem he does, though, judging by the way he keeps mouthing at Dean’s cock through his underwear. Dean’s breath is jagged, loud, but he straight up moans when finally the head of his cock slides out of his wet boxers and Cas licks at it eagerly.

“Fuck,” Dean pants, and leans back on the hand that isn’t tangled in Cas’ hair, giving Cas more space. 

Instead of answering, Cas’ clever fingers move Dean’s boxers down, pulling him out entirely and gripping him hard, his mouth closed over the tip. Dean moans as Cas swallows him down, painfully slowly, almost to the base, the head nudging the back of Cas’ throat. He pulls back up, and then moves down again, his mouth hot and perfect. 

Dean feels Cas’ fingers on his hips, digging hard enough to leave bruises, while his other hand circles his cock and moves where his lips don’t reach. Dean’s head lolls back, eyes falling open, and he stares at the slanted ceiling, panting hard, as Cas sucks him off and undoes him with his hands and mouth. All of Dean’s thoughts escape from his head, and it’s only by pure instinct that he feels the heat gathering low in his belly, enough to make his hand jerk and pull Cas off as he comes all over his shirt.

It takes him a while to realise Cas still isn’t moving or saying anything. He looks down, dazed and blissed out, and Cas drops his gaze and shuffles away.

“Hey,” Dean croaks, reaches out, and grips Cas’ arm. “What— what about you?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says.

“No, I— Come on, I want to—”

He notices a smear of come on Cas’ cheek and giggles hysterically. Cas sends him a confused look, so Dean pulls him up for a kiss, tentatively licking off the come and tasting himself on his tongue.

Cas kisses him gently, so much different from the kisses they shared before, and when Dean pushes him on the mattress beside him, Cas goes willingly, sighing into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s fingers move back on Cas’ belt, but then Cas catches his hand and Dean freezes.

“You really don’t have to,” Cas whispers.

Dean swallows. “Do you want it?”

Cas looks at him for a moment, as if searching his face for something, and then slowly nods. Dean takes a deep breath and pops the button of Cas’ jeans open.

“It can’t be that hard,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and then giggles.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice the pun, though. “You’ve never done this before?” he asks, incredulous, body tensing.

Dean looks up. “Uh, no,” he mumbles.

“What about—” Cas stops, and looks at the spot on the floor where he was kneeling not long ago.

“I’ve— I’ve had it done to me before,” Dean mutters. His face is on fire and he can’t look Cas in the eyes. “By women.”

“Oh,” Cas says.

“Mostly,” Dean whispers, head ducking even further down.

He feels Cas’ fingers on his arm, slowly moving up to his shoulder, cupping his jaw and making him look up.

“Dean,” is all he says, a strange look on his face.

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

Dean blinks, confused. “Because… I didn’t want you to stop.”

“Do you— Are you—” Cas seems to be at a loss for words, and Dean feels momentarily awful for making the hurt and confusion appear on his face.

“I swear I’m not, like, experimenting on you,” he says. “I swear, Cas.”

“What, then?” Cas asks, expression guarded. He hasn’t moved away, but his body is tense, Dean’s hand almost forgotten at the fly of his pants. 

“I’m just— Look, it’s complicated.”

“Okay,” Cas says and now he slowly backs away. 

Dean’s hand closes gently on his hip, trying to keep him in place. “You’re not an experiment, Cas. But it’s just— it’s all new to me, okay? I’ve had— I have done some stuff, and it just— It didn’t end well, and I thought maybe I was ready, but—”

“So why are you doing this?” Cas asks, gesturing in the space between them.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. Because I can, I guess? And it doesn’t—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought, though, because suddenly Cas is standing up, face invisible in the darkness of the room. Dean looks up, surprised at the sudden movement.

“What—”

“Thank you for the shelter,” Cas says, voice chilly, “and for the drinks. I’ll see myself out.”

He walks out of the room before Dean can even open his mouth to respond.


	4. Chapter 4

Getting out of bed the next day isn’t easy.

Dean rolls over, hiding his face away from the big window, currently letting in much more sunlight than he wishes for. He buries his head beneath one of the pillows, his groan louder than the birds singing outside. He wants to get up, close the window and the curtains, and go back to sleep, but his head is too heavy and his legs too wobbly.

He must fall back asleep anyway because when he comes to again, the sun isn’t shining directly into his room and has probably moved up. Must be noon, Dean muses, flopping onto his back and staring blearily at the slanted ceiling of his bedroom.

His foot nudges something cold hidden between the blankets. Dean looks up, smiles wryly, and reaches for the empty bottle of whisky lying at the foot of his bed. The reason for his headache, it seems. He doesn’t remember drinking it all, but he also doesn’t remember going to bed, so he gathers he must have been pretty out of it, especially after—

He refuses to think about it.

Instead, he gets up and walks downstairs. He swallows a painkiller and washes it down with a glass of water, decides against breakfast, and goes to take a shower. He spares one look at the tan coat hanging over the bathtub, rips it off the rack, and throws it carelessly on the pile of laundry.

There’s nothing to think about. He left because he was done with Dean, so there’s no point in even remembering it. After Dean gives him back the coat, they may never even talk again, for all Dean cares.

He isn’t going to make the same mistake again.

There’s a small voice in his mind telling him this is different, that he’s wrong, but he ignores it. It doesn’t make sense — he barely even knows the guy.

He ends up spending the entire afternoon cleaning the house and avoiding thinking about last night. He eats a late breakfast, foregoes lunch, and cooks himself dinner with everything he finds in his fridge. He tidies the backyard, getting rid of all the mess brought in by the builders. The tub is still not ready, but he doesn’t want to think about it today. Instead, he does the laundry and even washes the sheriff’s coat, folding it neatly afterwards and putting it on the cabinet in the corridor so that he remembers about it the next time he leaves for town. 

He eats dinner alone in his kitchen, staring at the computer screen, thoughts far, far away.

♡♡♡

Dean sees the sheriff’s car a few days later, just as he’s driving through town, bags full of groceries in the backseat. He slows down, just a little bit, and isn’t surprised to see sheriff Novak standing near the other car, a notepad in his hands and a stern expression on his face. Well, Dean can’t really see his face all that clearly, but he’s certain Novak is playing the strict sheriff again.

The coat is in the trunk of the Impala, but Dean doesn’t feel like stopping the car and talking to Castiel today, so he drives away without looking back.

His car roars as he speeds, passing the sheriff, but no one chases him to give him a ticket this time.

♡♡♡

“Can I get you anything else?” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says, winking, and points to the huge slice of pie sitting in front of him. “All I need now is right here.”

He grins when the waitress blushes and scurries away to tend to other customers. Dean chuckles to himself and digs into the pie. It’s delicious, just as they promised, and he savours every bite. He woke up that day craving waffles and ended up driving to his old favourite breakfast place — and he definitely isn’t regretting it now.

He’s only been interrupted two times — by a couple of teenage girls that wanted a selfie with him and a young man in a flannel shirt that seemed shy but thanked him for being awesome. It’s weird, he thinks, being able to eat breakfast almost without being bothered. Weird but kind of peaceful.

His peace ends a moment later. Dean is just finishing his coffee when the door to the cafe squeaks open and in comes the sheriff.

Dean stiffens at first. It’s been almost a week since that rainy evening, but the sting of rejection is still fresh in his mind. This is exactly the reason why he should have never done what he did — not this time, and certainly not back in Austin. That’s what he gets when he tries to... But obviously it must be the universe telling him he needs to stop this farce and start behaving like his old self again. He made a mistake and misjudged yet another person — and apparently it’s just what he _does_. All he needs to do is go over there, explain himself, and make him understand he never wants it to happen again. 

If he wishes to live here for some time, he should not have the sheriff as an enemy.

He gathers his things and stands up just when the sheriff seats himself at one of the vinyl stools and orders a large coffee.

“Hey,” Dean says out loud, his voice only a little bit raspy and uncertain.

The sheriff’s back goes rigid when he hears him. Dean slides into the chair beside him and smiles. Castiel looks at him, frowning.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, trying not to stare for too long into his eyes. They look unbelievably blue but it must be because the cafe’s decor is mostly blue and white. Dean doesn’t remember them being quite so vibrant.

The waitress speaks up before Dean can say something else. “Do you want the usual with your coffee, sheriff?” she asks coyly.

Castiel tears his eyes away from Dean and turns his stern gaze at the woman. “No, just coffee today. And make it to-go.”

The waitress’ face falls. “You’re not gonna stay?” 

“No,” Castiel says, without looking at her. He’s not looking at Dean either, even though Dean can’t stop staring at the side of his face.

The waitress sulks as she prepares the coffee, but keeps sneaking curious glances at Dean, who hasn't moved from his spot beside Castiel. Castiel, who's clearly ignoring him, even though Dean isn't even trying to pretend he's not looking.

“I think you’ve left something at the cabin,” Dean finally says, voice laden with sarcasm. “Don’t you want it back?”

Castiel doesn’t look at him when he responds. “Bring it to the station, please.”

Dean scoffs. And he wanted to apologise to the man! 

“Sorry, but no,” he says and doesn’t even try to come up with an excuse. 

He can see Castiel wants to turn and glare at him, he sees the way his fingers tighten where he’s gripping the counter. But he doesn’t give in, keeping his eyes on the waitress instead.

“I’m busy,” Castiel finally says. “I don’t have time to pick it up, at least not for the next few days.”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever, then.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Whatever.”

The waitress puts his coffee in front of him and he pays, muttering his thanks. Dean keeps watching him, anger boiling inside of him. He can’t stand Castiel having the upper hand in this situation, but there are people around and he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself. 

“Suit yourself,” Dean snaps.

Castiel turns, sends him a cold look, and brushes past him without another word.

♡♡♡

Considering all that has happened, the fact that Dean did not remember about the permits for the hot tub installation should not be enough to make the sheriff as pissed as he looks when Dean opens the door one afternoon.

Dean is too surprised to see him to even get angry in the first place. “Cas? What are you doing here?”

Without a word of greeting or a hint of a smile, Castiel snaps at him, “I came to see the electrical permit and discuss the details of the plumbing specialist’s visit.”

Dean blinks, confused, and takes a step back into his house, which apparently convinces Castiel to walk inside and close the door behind him.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, staring at him, “why don’t you come in.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Dean. Just show me the permit.”

“I don’t have it,” Dean says. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it?” Castiel sends him an incredulous look. “It’s been almost two weeks.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t feel like doing it, so I didn’t,” Dean says and shrugs, which only seems to make Castiel more annoyed.

“Do you realise,” he snaps and steps closer, blue eyes stormy, “that I was being extremely accommodating when I said you could get a permit _after_ installing your tub? Are you doing this on purpose?”

Dean scoffs. “What, exactly?”

“You’re giving me no other option but to revoke my permission altogether and have your hot tub removed from your backyard,” Castiel says.

“Oh, I thought that was just you being a dick,” Dean muses. “And now you’re trying to convince me it’s my own fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault, Dean. You’re the one that refuses to meet the legal standards.”

“You can stick your legal standards up your lily-white ass, sheriff,” Dean barks, watching as Castiel’s eyes darken at his words.

He’s not even surprised he ends up with his back against the wall, Castiel’s forearm digging into his throat uncomfortably.

“Maybe it’s common to talk to the police like that where you come from,” Castiel says quietly, and Dean can feel his breath against his chin, “but I will not let you address me like that. Not while I’m the sheriff.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Cas, but I do come from here,” Dean laughs.

“I told you not to call me that,” Castiel barks.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

Dean watches as Castiel’s chest rises, his breathing fast, the colour high in his cheeks. He pins Dean harder to the wall and stares him down.

“Stop behaving like a dumb superstar, Winchester.”

“Or what? You’re gonna arrest me again?” Dean mocks. “Clearly you must see it doesn’t work on me.”

“I’ll find a way,” Castiel warns. “You’re not any better than anyone else in this town, and I’m gonna make sure you remember it.”

“Oh, I do remember it,” Dean snaps. “All thanks to you.”

Castiel frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Dean laughs in his face. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you making me feel like shit and running away from here as soon as you were finished with me? But let me tell you something, Cas — you’re not any better. I actually think you’re worse—”

“What?” Castiel lets go of him, his face flushing red again. “After _I_ was finished with _you_?”

“You must be so proud of yourself, aren’t you,” Dean jeers. “You blew Dean Winchester! How does it feel, huh? Did you tell all of your friends about it, did you post about it online and have a laugh over it?”

“I told you,” Castiel says, his voice dangerously low, “I don’t care who you are.”

“Oh, sure,” Dean says. “And that’s why you left.”

“I left,” Castiel says and advances on him again. Dean doesn’t move until Castiel pushes against him again, even harder now. “I left because I don’t care about _fooling around with you_ —”

Dean pushes him away. “Get out. I’m done talking with you.”

“Dean—”

“No. I said get out,” Dean snarls. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Fine,” Castiel snaps. “But don’t tell me _I’m_ the one running away.”

“I don’t care,” Dean says, passes Cas, and holds the door wide open for him. “I may be the one with problems, I may mess up from time to time, but I just— I don’t deserve this.” He can see Castiel glaring at him and he looks away, trying to keep his emotions at bay. “Just go.”

“Problems?” Castiel asks. He doesn’t move. “What problems?”

Dean ignores him. “I came here to escape all this, and I— I know better than to continue this… whatever this was. I don’t deserve this,” he repeats.

Cas still isn’t leaving. “Am I missing something? How are _you_ the one getting hurt over this?” he asks and he sounds so bewildered, Dean has to look at him.

“I’m not gonna be just one of your conquests,” Dean says.

Castiel’s eyes are incredibly wide. “I do not have conquests. You’re the famous one between the two of us.”

“Oh, right.” Dean laughs bitterly. “So obviously that must mean I just sleep around with whoever is interested.”

“I _never_ said that,” Castiel barks.

“Well, you implied it,” Dean says. “So thanks for that.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Dean is staring at the wall in front of him, still keeping the door open, while Castiel stares at him in what seems like puzzlement.

“You think I used you,” he says, finally.

Dean smiles bitterly. “Thanks for confirming. Now get out.”

“I didn’t confirm anything,” Cas says and takes a step closer. Dean moves away. “I thought you were using me.”

Dean baulks. “The fuck? I thought I told you you weren’t my experiment.”

Castiel shakes his head with a sad smile. “You admitted you did this just because you _could_. It sounded as if you just wanted to try it out, and accidentally, I was just there. It did feel like an experiment.”

“Well,” Dean mutters, “it wasn’t my intention.”

Castiel takes another step. “You did say you’d never done it before.”

Dean can feel his cheeks burning so he busies himself with closing the door, now that it seems they’re talking again. He wouldn’t want anyone to hear their conversation, even though he knows no one really lives close enough to overhear. 

“Because I haven’t,” Dean says. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

“Are you…” Cas pauses, and it makes Dean look back at him again. He looks uncertain. “Are you even gay, Dean?”

“No,” Dean denies immediately. He can feel his entire face flushing. “I’m not gay.”

Castiel keeps looking at him. “But you have participated in oral sex with men before,” he says slowly.

Dean winces. “Don’t say it like that.” When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean rolls his eyes and says, “But yeah, you could say so. A few people, uh… A few guys did… You know.”

“Have _you_?” Castiel asks.

“No.” Dean shakes his head.

“Because you don’t want to?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, but his voice falters. “No. I mean… I don’t know.”

“Dean.” Castiel moves forward again, but he’s slow, careful, as if he’s tending to a wild animal instead of a grown-up. “Would you ever consider giving another man a blowjob?”

Dean shakes his head again, his mouth opening a few times with no voice coming out. He glances at Castiel, notices his inquiring eyes, and looks away. 

“What did you mean,” Castiel asks quietly, “when you mentioned your problems before?”

“Like you haven’t heard,” Dean scoffs.

“I haven’t,” Cas says. “If I had, I wouldn’t ask.”

Dean laughs, breathless. “I’m gonna need a drink for that conversation.”

He passes Castiel to go to the kitchen, but he’s stopped with a strong hand on his arm. “Can we please not drink again? I just want to talk to you.”

“Oh, and here I had the impression all you wanted was to yell and demand stupid permits,” Dean mutters.

“I will need those permits in the end,” Castiel says, and when Dean looks at him, he sees that he’s smiling. “And I never yell.”

“You yelled not five minutes ago,” Dean teases.

“I never raised my voice,” Cas brags.

“Yeah, okay. You growled. Satisfied?”

“You’re pretty infuriating,” Castiel says and shrugs. “I had no other choice.”

Dean laughs quietly and leads them to the living room. Cas sits down on the couch, curiously looking around, while Dean perches on the edge of the one of the armchairs and nervously glances at the laptop lying on the coffee table. Cas meets his eye, then looks down at the computer, too.

“Don’t you read the news?” Dean asks finally.

Castiel tilts his head. “I do. Why?”

“Haven’t you heard about me?”

“I thought we’ve had this conversation before, Dean,” Cas sighs. “No, I didn’t recognise—”

“No— I mean.” Dean scratches his nose. “Even without knowing who I am, you must have heard something. About me, I mean.”

Castiel squints. “Not really.”

Dean lets out a heavy sigh and looks up to the ceiling. “Jesus. Okay. You must have been living under a rock for the last few weeks, but okay. I’ll show you.”

He reaches for the laptop, fires it up, and walks over to the couch. He sits down beside Castiel while the computer starts, then clicks at his browser and goes to google. He sends a glance Castiel’s way.

“Here,” he says and places the laptop in Cas’ lap. “Google my name.”

Cas looks at him. “What…?”

“Just my name,” Dean says. “It should be enough.”

It takes him a while, but then Castiel puts his hands on the keyboard and enters Dean’s name. Before clicking enter, he sends Dean one last questioning look. 

“Scroll down until you see any news about a new scandal or something. Or any article that mentions me being, um, gay,” Dean says, his throat tight. 

“Do I even want to?” Castiel asks quietly. “I don’t care much for tabloid news.”

“You asked about my problems,” Dean says. “Here they are.”

He hears Castiel click and he looks away. He knows those headlines by heart, anyway. ‘Gay secret? Rockstar Dean Winchester caught in makeout session with another man’. ‘Who’s Winchester’s male lover? Help us guess, we’ve got pictures!’ ‘Dean Winchester breaks hearts of millions of fans! See exclusive pictures showing the star in flagrante with a mystery man…’

Dean takes a deep breath and looks back at Cas.

“What am I looking at?” Cas asks.

Dean gestures vaguely to the laptop. “The whole world thinks I’m gay,” he says awkwardly.

Castiel frowns. “And this is bad because…?”

“Because I’m not,” Dean says hotly. “They’re lying.”

Cas nods slowly. “Alright. Are they lying about the _mystery man_?”

Dean closes his eyes. “This is when we start talking about my problems.”

A moment passes, and then Cas says, “I’m waiting. Did they catch you with a man and it somehow ruined your career?”

“Uh. Not really, no,” Dean says, but even he knows better than to deny the first part of Castiel’s question. He’s never denied it.

“No, I didn't think it would,” Castiel muses. “But you’re still hiding here for some reason.”

“Not hiding,” Dean mutters. “Just… waiting. I want everything to quiet down, then I can go back. I want people to forget about it.”

“And do you think they will?”

“They’ve got to. I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not? Why can’t you admit—”

“It’s not just about me,” Dean bursts and turns back towards Cas. He lets out a heavy breath. “It’d be easier if it was just about me. I think— Maybe I could— After some time, maybe I’d—”

“You’d come out?” Castiel asks, and his voice is quiet and gentle.

Dean meets his eyes and somehow it feels both vulnerable and comforting. He gives a tiny, barely visible nod, and looks down. 

“Maybe. But it’s not just about me.”

Castiel is quiet for a moment, and then Dean feels his hand on his forearm, soft fingers grounding him, stabilising. 

“Is it about the man you were with?”

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t talk about him.”

“Is he scared?” Castiel asks. “Did he ask you not to tell anyone?”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “You could say so.”

“Did he threaten you?” Cas’ voice is cold, steel-like. 

Dean looks up at him. “I can’t, Cas. I can’t talk about it.”

Cas looks like he wants to argue, but Dean gives him a hard look and shakes his head again. Castiel closes his mouth, and then, after a moment, opens it again. He looks pensive.

“Are you in love?”

Dean gasps. “ _What?_ You can’t— You can’t just ask things like that, Cas!”

“Why not?” Castiel frowns.

“Because— just because! It’s just— it’s not your damn business,” Dean snaps.

“Forgive me, Dean,” Cas says, even though there’s not a hint of remorse on his face. He looks a bit cheeky. “I thought we were talking about your personal life.”

“Yeah, well.” Just to have something to do, Dean reaches out and snaps the laptop in Castiel’s lap closed. He puts it back on the coffee table and glares at it. “We’re not anymore.”

“I just gathered, since you’ve obviously been hurt by that man, and now you’re covering for him even though it’s hurting you—”

“I’m not _hurt_ ,” Dean bites. “Shut up.”

“You must care for him a great deal because otherwise, why would you deny yourself happiness just so he gets what he wants?” 

“I don’t _care for him_ ,” Dean mocks. “He’s an asshole. I’m done with him.”

“You don’t love him?”

Dean laughs, but it’s bitter. “No. Maybe, uh. Maybe I used to think I could, one day, but it was just sex. And now it’s not anymore, obviously.”

When he looks at Cas, he’s looking at him with eyes big and soft. Dean scoffs.

“Oh my god, stop it. I’m fine. I’m not heartbroken, I’m not _pining for him_ or anything. Not anymore.”

“He’s hurt you,” Castiel says, and his grip on Dean’s arm tightens.

“Yeah,” Dean admits, and it feels good to finally say it, but it also feel quite awful, so he adds, “But I’m completely over it. I _swear_.”

Castiel has got that look in his eyes again, contemplating, analysing, shrewd. It’s as if the only thing he can see is Dean and it’s making Dean shiver a little.

“But you’re still covering for him,” he says, and it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “He, uh. He doesn’t want to be out. I’m not gonna be the one that outs him, I’d rather it just went away. That’s why I’m here.”

The hand on Dean’s forearm moves down to catch his hand. Dean freezes and looks down, looks at Cas’ fingers that close around his and squeeze.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas murmurs. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“What are you apologising for?” Dean grunts, still staring at their joined hands. He only held hands with another man once, and it didn’t even last this long. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you,” Castiel whispers. “I thought— you said yes, and I didn’t think—”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts, looking up at him. Cas looks so apologetic. “What are you talking about? You didn’t take advantage of me. I mean, yeah, I thought you used me just because I was famous, but that was before. You didn't do anything I didn’t want you to do.”

Castiel still looks quite alarmed, so Dean sighs and moves his hand so that their fingers are intertwined. His stomach twists at the sight, throat tight and face warm. 

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable. I may not be… uh, you know. Entirely out and okay with myself, but I know what I like. Okay?”

Cas nods and looks down at their hands, too. Dean flushes harder.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like an experiment,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet that for a moment he fears Cas can’t hear him. But he squeezes his hand and moves closer so that they’re almost face to face.

“I should have stayed,” he says, his voice soft against Dean’s cheek. “I should have stayed and talked with you instead of storming off. You just caught me off guard, saying you had never done anything like that before.”

“Well, not anything,” Dean says with a small chuckle. “I told you I’ve done some stuff before. Even with guys.”

“What stuff, exactly?” Castiel asks. Dean is still looking down, fascinated with the way his own thumb is slowly moving against Cas’ skin, brushing it. He can feel Cas’ intense gaze on the side of his face, though. 

“Uh. They, uh. They sucked me off a few times. I mean, I don’t remember all of them, I was usually pretty drunk.” He feels Cas’ accusing eyes and he shrugs, sending him a look that says, ‘celebrity parties, man, don’t judge’. “There were a few handjobs, too. From dudes.”

“But you’ve never done it yourself,” Castiel comments.

“No,” Dean mutters. “It felt… like crossing some sort of a border that I could never go back from again.”

“How was that one man different, then?”

“He wasn’t, not really. Just that I actually knew him and we, uh. It was more than just a few times in a bathroom or something.”

“Like a relationship,” Cas says.

“If you call secret meetings to get sucked off before anyone noticed a relationship, then yeah, okay.”

“More like an affair, then, maybe,” Cas hums.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Did you want something more serious from him?”

“Maybe,” Dean whispers. “I had thought about it. I don’t anymore.”

Castiel lets out a heavy sigh, and Dean feels it on his face, on the side of his neck, against his ear. He swallows and looks up through his eyelashes at Cas, who’s already staring at him, too.

“What about kissing?” Cas asks. His eyes flick between Dean’s eyes and his lips, back to his eyes again. “How do you feel about kissing men, Dean?”

Dean’s exhale is shaky, but he doesn’t look away. “I kissed you that night, didn’t I? _I_ kissed _you_.”

“Yes,” Cas sighs. “Did you like it?”

“I liked everything that happened,” Dean murmurs.

He feels Castiel’s hand brush against his jawline, cup his face and slowly bring it closer, close enough that Dean can see the tiniest of freckles on Castiel’s nose. His other hand is still squeezing Dean’s fingers, gently pulling him in. 

“I’m not a celebrity, Dean,” Cas says. “I don’t care about what people say, but I also don’t sleep around. I don’t do ‘casual’.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Okay.”

When they finally kiss, it’s with their fingers intertwined and Cas’ hand stroking the short hair on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean melts against him, lets himself be held and kissed until they’re both out of breath, their mouths red and eyes shining. Dean moves in again and licks against Castiel’s lips, and he doesn’t feel shy anymore — he’s done it enough times to know what people like, even if those people are men and have stubble on their jaws.

He moves his lips along Cas’ jawline, kisses at the soft spot behind his ear. Cas lets out a pleased sigh and tightens his grip on Dean’s hand. When Dean kisses down his throat, noses at the collar of his shirt and nips at the skin against his Adam’s apple, Cas’ breathing speeds up. Satisfied, Dean leans forward and pushes Cas down against the arm of the couch, grips his hip and keeps him in place, just as he kisses him again and opens his lips with his tongue.

Cas moans and grabs Dean’s arms, and Dean feels himself getting hard in his pants.

A short moment later, Cas pushes Dean away. Dean looks down, confused, and notices Cas’ dishevelled state and his dark eyes.

“I should go,” Cas rasps, his voice sending shivers down Dean’s spine and turning him on even more.

“Why?” Dean croaks.

Cas licks his lips and Dean tracks the movement with his eyes. “I’m actually still on duty,” he says.

For a second, Dean stares at him, and then he snorts. “What? Really?”

Cas chuckles. “Yes. Why did you think I was wearing the uniform? For fun?”

Dean grins. “Dunno. Maybe you wanted to impress me.”

“My uniform impresses you?” Cas asks and raises one eyebrow. “Good to know.”

Dean laughs again, but then sits up and drags Cas with him. “Whatever, jerk. You should’ve said something.”

Cas fidgets and looks down. “I… forgot. It doesn’t matter. I’m the sheriff, after all.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and grins. “You are.”

They don’t kiss when Dean sees Cas to the door, even though he really wants to. Cas looks at him over his shoulder, smiles, and then stops on the step just outside the cabin.

“Actually, could you give me back my coat? That was another reason why I came here.”

Dean gapes at him, blinks, and then starts laughing.


	5. Chapter 5

A quick look around the cabin turns into a ten-minute walk among the neighbouring woods, and then into an hour-long trek up the hill, ending on the small pasture at the foot of the mountain. There’s a wooden fence surrounding the area where people used to herd their stock, back when Dean was a kid. He climbs onto the railing, realising it seems to be much lower than it was all those years ago — or maybe he’s just taller.

Sitting here, in the warm summer sun, breathing in the smell of trees and fresh air, Dean feels more at peace than he has in a long, long time. This place wasn’t perfect when he was younger, it wasn’t always easy and calm, he knows it — but right now, in this moment, Dean feels powerful nostalgia tug at his heart, making the past seem like paradise. He misses it sometimes, even despite the fact that he managed to get away, to start a career and become _someone_ … or, well, this is what he usually thinks. Right now, considering all the shit that piled up in his life — the stuff with Michael, the way it felt to live in constant anxiety for a few months, all because Michael was uncomfortable and Dean was too scared to do anything about it… After everything that happened, he just couldn’t do it a second longer. They warned him it wouldn't always be easy — he understood it now.

He feels so relaxed now, though, that he doesn’t even think twice before pulling out his phone and dialling his brother’s number.

He picks up almost immediately. “Dean! Hey!”

“Hi, Sam,” Dean says with a smile.

“Dude, it’s good to hear your voice,” Sam says, sappy as always. But Dean doesn’t tease him for it this time — he’s in too good of a mood. “How are you?”

“I’m… pretty cool, Sam.”

“Yeah? How’s the house? Still standing?”

Dean chuckles. “Yup. You should visit soon, actually. I’m building a hot tub.”

“You’re kidding.” Sam snorts. “My god, Dean, you’re _such_ a rockstar sometimes.”

“Hey, I deserve it,” Dean says with a laugh. “The tub here is ridiculously small.”

“No, it’s you. You’re ridiculously tall, Dean.”

“And you don’t get a say in this, gigantor,” Dean mocks. “It’s gonna be awesome once it’s done.”

Sam chuckles. “Well, I’m glad, then. Took you a while to call, by the way.”

“You’ve got your own life, man. I’m not going to bother you with details of my grocery shopping or house cleaning.”

“You know I’m interested in your life, too, Dean,” Sam says. He falls quiet for a moment and Dean knows what’s coming even before he hears it. “I hope… he hasn’t tried contacting you, has he?”

“No,” Dean says. He looks up towards the clear sky, squints his eyes against the sun. It’s definitely too nice outside to be thinking about it, but Sam was there for him when Dean needed it, and Dean’s gonna indulge him. “He hasn’t. Why would he? It’s better for him that I’m gone.”

“But still,” Sam says. “I think everyone knows by now where you are, apparently the fans are everywhere.” 

“Obviously.” Dean chuckles. “I’m good, Sam. I actually went out today and I found this place… Do you remember that pasture up in the hills, we used to hang out here all the time with Jo and Ash and there were cows and sheep here…”

“Oh my god, yeah! You’re there? How does it look?”

“Tiny,” Dean laughs. “Was that fence always so small?”

“Remember when I fell down one time and broke my arm? Dad was pissed.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He keeps smiling as Sam starts reminiscing, and feels he would give a lot to see his brother right now. They haven’t really seen each other for way too long. “You really should visit. We could go see Ellen together.”

“Stay there for a bit longer and I will,” Sam promises with a laugh.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere for a while. It’s nice here,” Dean says and looks around once more. “I’m not constantly bothered by fans or anyone… Well, most of the time,” he adds with a snort, thinking of Castiel’s angry face as he growled at him about permits. 

“Meaning?” Sam asks, curious.

“I’ll tell you another time,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Listen, Dean, I need to go. My lunch break is almost over and I’ve got a pile of documents waiting for me on my desk.”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, sure. Go, you workaholic.”

“Hey! Some people need to work hard to earn money,” Sam jokes.

“Try getting up on stage in front of millions of people and then we’ll talk.”

“Whatever, jerk.”

Dean snorts. “Go. Don’t let me keep you from your very important job.”

“Bye, Dean,” Sam says. “Miss you!”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “You too.”

He ends the call, stuffs the phone into his pocket, and sighs contentedly. A tiny rumble in his stomach reminds him it really is lunch time, so he jumps off the fence and, with one more look at the pasture, goes back to the path among the trees.

He decides to take a different route this time and after some time, he ends up on one of the roads leading in and out of town. It’s empty and quiet, surrounded by tall trees and illuminated by warm sunshine falling through the leaves. Dean knows it’ll take him about half an hour to reach the edge of town and the cabin, but he’s not in a hurry. The only things he’s missing right now are his sunglasses and maybe a bottle of water because it quickly gets hot as he walks, but he thinks he can manage.

He has just decided it’s getting uncomfortably warm underneath his plaid shirt and he stops on the side of the road to pull it off when a car passes him — the first one he’s seen in the last fifteen minutes. He ties a knot with the shirt around his hips and looks up curiously.

To his surprise, he notices the car has stopped just a few feet down the road — and it’s not just a random car.

Castiel gets out of the sheriff’s truck, slams the door, and heads towards him. Dean closes his mouth and swallows. Cas doesn’t look at him as he comes closer and Dean involuntarily wonders if he did something illegal again. Was he walking on the wrong side of the road? Is it forbidden to take off his shirt now?

“Hey…?” he hesitates.

Castiel finally reaches him and lifts his head. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and Dean’s throat gets even drier than it already is. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas rumbles, his voice low and scratchy. Dean can’t see his eyes, not with those shades, but he’s quite sure he’s squinting at him. “What are you doing here?”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, not only to try to look more certain, but because he’s not sure what to do with them. Also, it’s possible he’s sweating in his black tee and he definitely doesn’t want Cas to see or smell it.

Plus, he knows his biceps look good when he keeps his arms like this.

“What, is walking illegal now?” he shoots back.

Cas tilts his head. “I didn’t say that.”

Dean clears his throat. “Well, then. Here you go — I’m just walking.”

“Are you lost?” Cas asks. “Those woods are quite big, and you’re going the right way, but you still have—”

“I’m not lost,” Dean huffs. “I went out on a walk and now I’m going back. Question is, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m going back, too,” he says. “Sheriff’s business in the neighbouring town,” he adds by way of explanation.

Dean shrugs. “Cool. What a coincidence.”

Castiel barely moves, and even through his sunglasses, Dean is certain he’s staring right at him. “Yes. Coincidence.”

“Soooo,” Dean says. “Guess I’ll be on my way.”

Castiel nods and Dean feels a tug of disappointment at his lack of reaction. But when he tries to walk past him, Cas’ hand closes over Dean’s elbow. Dean stops and turns to smirk at him.

“Yeah, sheriff? Something you wanted?”

He watches as Cas looks him up and down, quickly, and his pink tongue sneaks out to wet his lips.

“We’re going in the same direction,” he says awkwardly.

Dean grins. “I guess? And?”

“And I can take you with me,” Cas adds. “You look a bit tired.”

Dean pretends to be offended. “Are you saying I look bad? That’s not how you get people inside your car, Cas.”

Cas frowns at him. “You don’t look bad. I never said that.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean mutters, barely managing to contain the teasing grin that threatens to appear on his face.

“If you want to walk all that way back to town, be my guest,” Castiel pouts. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I want to walk,” Dean says, throwing him a smile. “Do you have any water?”

Cas leads him to the car and Dean follows. He secretly sniffs himself while Cas isn’t looking and decides he doesn’t smell too bad. It gives him the confidence he needs. When Cas emerges from the car with a small bottle of water, Dean makes a show of nearly tearing it out of his hands and chugging down almost half of it in one go. He deliberately lets a few droplets sneak past his lips and down his neck and he gasps loudly when he lowers the bottle.

Cas is staring at him with his mouth parted, the sunglasses gone from his nose, eyes bright and wide.

“Thanks,” Dean rasps and licks his lips. Cas’ gaze follows the movement. “I guess you were right, I was pretty tired.”

Cas nods, but it’s small. “Just get in.”

Dean smirks. “Whatever you want, sheriff.”

Cas yanks the bottle out of his hands and turns away with a huff. Dean takes his time to go around the car and get into the passenger seat, making sure to stretch just before sitting and letting his t-shirt ride up, showing a fragment of his hip. He knows Cas noticed, because his head whips back towards the road and his fingers grip the wheel so tightly they’re almost white.

“You know where to, Cas,” Dean hums.

Cas looks back at him. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”

“Calling you what?” Dean blinks.

“ _Cas_. It’s not my name.”

“It’s a shortened version of your name,” Dean says, confused. “Would you prefer your full name?”

Cas squints. “I… don’t know.”

“Does everyone call you Castiel?” Dean asks.

“Most people call me sheriff.”

Dean raises a brow. “Okay, sheriff.”

“Not like that,” Cas says. “You’re teasing me.”

Dean grins. “Am I? How can you tell?”

Cas glares at him. “ _Dean_.”

“ _Castiel_ ,” Dean shoots back.

Cas frowns, turns his head back towards the road. They’re still not moving, but his hands stay on the wheel as he stares through the windshield.

“No,” he mutters. “Not like that, either.”

Dean sighs. “Can’t you just drive? I don’t have to call you anything if you don’t like it.”

Cas shoots him a glare, but doesn’t respond and moves to turn the key in the ignition. He stops, though, and looks back at Dean again.

“What will you call me, then?” he asks.

“Asshole,” Dean retorts. 

Castiel sits up straighter. “What have I done now?”

“You’re annoying,” Dean says. “Are you gonna drive or not? I don’t have all day.”

“Not if you keep disrespecting me,” Cas snaps.

“Fine,” Dean mutters and gets out of the car. He slams the door for good measure and, with a satisfied smirk, picks up his pace again. He manages to take a few long steps down the road before he hears his name again.

“Dean,” the sheriff says and when Dean turns his head, he notices that Cas has started the car and is now slowly driving alongside Dean, peeking at him through the open window on the passenger side. “Get in.”

“Nah, thanks. I’m good.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sorry. Wouldn’t want to disrespect you again,” Dean taunts. There’s a smirk still playing on his lips, but he’s trying to hide it from Cas. Let him think he really is annoyed, let him try a bit harder. Dean is enjoying this far too much to make it too easy for either of them.

He’s probably also being a bit dumb, but to hell with that, he’s on vacation.

“Get in the car,” Cas says.

“Oh, you’re not even gonna ask nicely?”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

Dean doesn’t respond, just takes a few more certain steps down the road. The car follows him.

“Dean, for god’s sake, stow your crap and get it. Now.”

Dean stops. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re being childish.”

“ _I’m_ being childish?” Dean points to himself. “You’re the one that gets fucking offended because I give you a friendly nickname!”

“It doesn’t sounds friendly,” Cas seeths. “It sounds like you’re always mocking me.”

Dean glares. “That’s called flirting, you dumbass.”

He takes exactly two long steps forward, and then he hears a screech and the sheriff’s car blocks his way so suddenly, it makes him yelp and jump back.

“What the fuck?!” he yells. He turns on his heel and glares at Castiel, who scrambles out of the car and walks towards him with a deadly pout on his handsome face.

“Don’t make me use my handcuffs again, Dean,” he says, stalking closer.

“Kinky,” Dean snaps. His heart is beating much faster now, thanks to Cas’ antics. “But no, thanks. You could’ve killed me.”

Cas scoffs. “I know how to drive a car.”

“Well, apparently not,” Dean says and gestures to the truck, its front wheels almost on the grass beside the road. 

Cas squints at him. They’re standing close now, and Dean’s back is almost touching the side of the car. 

“Are you… flirting again?” Cas asks.

“Not now! Right now I’m mad at you,” Dean mutters. “You don’t just _do that_ to people, man.”

“It’s hard to read you, Dean,” Cas says, as if he didn’t hear him. “You get on my nerves, and you frustrate me, and I never know if you actually mean what you’re saying.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You know, you can always just ask.”

“You’d just tease me again.”

“Probably.”

“Then what’s the point?” Cas glares.

“It’s fun?” Dean shrugs. “You’re pretty hot when you’re mad at me,” he says and looks away.

Cas is quiet for a long moment, but Dean still feels his gaze on his face. “Are you really angry with me now?”

Dean looks at him sideways. He lets out a breath and most of the tension leaves his body.

“No,” he says. “Not really.”

“Good,” Cas says, “because I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Dean doesn’t have a chance to respond because in the next second, he’s being pinned to the car with Cas’ entire body, strong hands on his arms and Cas’ bright eyes on the same level as his. They look at each other, breathless, and Dean slowly lets his hands up, touching Cas’ hips.

“What are you waiting for, then,” he whispers.

Cas kisses him, and Dean’s eyes flutter closed, his grip on the sheriff’s hips tightening as he pulls him in. They both let out a small gasp when Dean immediately opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing Cas’ lips and licking them open. Cas wastes no time in pressing in closer, his thigh coming up, right between Dean’s legs. A groan escapes Dean and he pulls away.

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” he mumbles.

Cas growls deep in his throat and kisses him again, his lips hungry and enthusiastic. Dean can feel himself growing harder in his pants, especially when Cas rubs against him and moves his lips down to suck at his neck. His kisses turn wet and messy and Dean moans out loud, his head falling to the side to give Castiel more space.

“Fuck,” he repeats, panting. He’s pretty sure he can feel Cas’ cock through his uniform. “Cas, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Castiel pulls away, just with his mouth, and sends Dean a serious look. 

“You’re right,” he rasps, and Dean grows even harder at the mere sound of his voice. “Please get in.”

He’s surprisingly gentle when he pushes Dean to the side and opens the door to the backseat of the car. Dean’s throat goes dry at the sight. 

“Really,” he gasps.

“Really,” Cas confirms and crowds close to him again, hands on Dean’s shoulders, guiding him inside the truck.

“You’re the sheriff,” Dean says weakly.

“Exactly,” Cas says, one eyebrow raised.

Dean swallows, reaches out, and grabs Cas by the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer just so he can kiss him again. Cas stands between Dean’s open legs and angles his head so that he can easily deepen the kiss and tease him with his tongue. Dean moans as he opens up for him, scrambling to get a hold on Cas’ shirt as the kiss messes with his head.

And then, suddenly, he feels a hand on his thigh, soft but confident, slowly moving up until it stops at Dean’s crotch and palms him through his jeans. Dean gasps and bucks his hips up. Cas rubs at him again, hard enough that Dean thinks he can see stars even though his eyes are closed.

“F-fuck,” he pants as Castiel’s lips leave a wet trail down his neck. His hand continues to stroke Dean through his pants and Dean’s breath is quick and shallow, the moves of his hips uncoordinated. “Cas, please—”

“Move,” Cas purrs into his ear, then gently bites it. “Get inside.”

Dean scrambles deeper into the backseat and Cas follows him on all fours, a predatory look on his face. Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, but then they’re kissing again, hands in their hair and hips moving closer and closer together. Cas nips at his lips and then licks over them, and Dean is too distracted by his kisses to notice at first that Cas is fumbling with his belt buckle. When he does, he curses again and pulls Cas’ head closer, Cas’ sinful lips sucking a mark into the sensitive spot behind his ear. It takes Cas’ skillful fingers only a moment to unzip Dean’s jeans and open them, and then he’s gasping, his breath hot and wet against Dean’s skin.

Dizzy and unbelievably aroused, Dean opens his eyes and looks down. Cas is staring at his crotch and only after a moment does Dean realises what’s happening.

“Do you like them?” he whispers and knows his face gets red just as he says it, but there’s no hiding now.

Cas doesn’t answer, but then his fingers dance over the white lacy fabric of Dean’s panties. Dean bites back a loud moan.

“You can touch me,” he hums. His hips buckle to meet Cas’ curious touch again. “Please, Cas…”

And then Cas surprises him again and bows his head to put his lips on him. He kisses him through the delicate material and Dean almost whimpers at the hot feeling against his hardness. His hand finds its way into Cas’ hair and he gently keeps him in place as Cas drags his mouth over his length and licks at the tip that’s slipping out of the panties.

“Fuck,” Dean moans. “Fuck, yes, Cas—”

A loud ping sounds in the car so suddenly then they both freeze at first. Dean looks down at Cas, confused, and, to his enormous displeasure, Cas sits up and drags a hand over his mouth.

“Shit,” Dean think he hears Cas mumble, and then he’s scrambling to the front seat. The ping sounds again and then Cas says, “Sheriff Novak. What’s going on?”

“Hi, sheriff,” sounds someone’s gruff voice. “Don’t wanna bother you but we’ve got a potential B&E at the Center Street. I’m swamped in the paperwork and I know you should have some time today. Mind checking that out?”

Dean lets his head fall back against the window. He hears Cas respond, his voice rough and scratchy, but apparently, the person he’s talking to doesn’t notice anything. With a sigh, Dean carefully zips his pants and buckles his belt. He’s still hard but he’s also pretty sure the fun’s over.

After a moment, Cas turns in the seat and looks at him. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says apologetically. “I think I need to get this.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.”

Cas stares at him pleadingly. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Dean says. “Could you get me home, though? I don’t really feel like walking all that way back now,” he says and gestures to his boner, still clearly visible through his jeans.

Cas looks down at his crotch. Dean blushes.

“Of course,” Cas says. “You don’t need to ask.”


	6. Chapter 6

Two days later, Dean calls the sheriff’s department.

“Sheriff Novak,” he hears and grins despite himself.

“Hey, sheriff. Got some good news.”

“Dean,” Cas responds. “What is it?”

“You got the electrical permit I left for you yesterday, right?” Dean asks. Cas grunts instead of answering and Dean briefly considers asking what crawled up his ass today, but he decides against teasing this time. “Well, guess what. I’m holding the building permit from the specialist you sent in my hand right now.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “You can send it or come by tomorrow and leave it. We’re just finishing for the day.”

Dean looks over at the porch, the sun almost completely hidden behind the treetops and the mountain peaks. It leaves the hot tub standing in the middle of the porch glinting in the golden sunrays.

“Yeah, I know. I was actually thinking you should come by and have a look at it today.”

Cas is quiet for a moment. “Today? Dean, I just told you I’m finishing my shift in… exactly ten minutes.”

“I know,” Dean repeats. “Do you have plans, though?”

“Plans?” Cas sounds irritated. “Yes. I want to go home and relax with a cup of tea and a good book.”

“Aww,” Dean murmurs. “Busy day?”

“Don’t even ask,” Cas grunts.

“Well, then. What if you swapped tea with some champagne?

“I don’t have any champagne at home,” Cas says slowly.

“I do,” Dean singsongs.

“Good for you, Dean,” Cas grouses. “Now, I really do have to go, Alfie is—”

“Are you being intentionally thick, or is this just how you are?” Dean asks. “In both cases, it’s not working for me. Cut the crap, will you.”

Castiel lets out an annoyed sigh. “What crap? What are you talking about? Dean, I told you I’m—”

“Tired, yeah. I get that,” Dean says. “That’s why I’m suggesting you come by and relax.”

“No,” Cas says, “you’re suggesting I come by to take a look at your permit today because you want to have your tub installed as quickly as possible. I’m sorry, Dean, but you’re not special. I’m not going to—”

“The tub’s ready,” Dean interrupts. “The permit was just an excuse, and I thought you’d get it.”

“What do you mean, the tub is ready?” Cas asks.

“I mean,” Dean looks over at his porch again, “it’s filling with water as we speak.”

There’s a short pause. 

“What,” Cas asks flatly.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna heat it up nice and warm soon and it should be ready by the time you—”

“Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is weirdly soft now. “When did you get the permission from the specialist I sent?”

“Today. Told you I’m holding it in—”

“And when did you manage to finish the tub?”

Dean lets out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s been done for a couple of days now. I was only waiting for—”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Castiel murmurs and hangs up.

Satisfied, Dean grins to himself and goes to the kitchen to get the champagne.

♡♡♡

Dean imagined a lot of things — Cas falling into his arms as soon as he crossed Dean’s door, touch-starved and delighted to see him again; Cas shy and expectant, a bottle of wine in his hand; Cas pinning him to the wall and ravishing him with his mouth and hands, the permit and the tub forgotten.

But really, by now, he probably should have known better.

Dean stands in the kitchen and angrily cleans up half the bottle of champagne he accidentally spilled when he waved his hand too violently. Meanwhile, Cas keeps yelling at him, just as he’s been doing for the last ten minutes, ever since he knocked on Dean’s door.

Okay, Dean thinks, maybe yelling is not an appropriate word. Cas is more or less seething at him, nagging him about building the tub without permits, about breaking the rules, about being a pain in his ass (he didn’t say _that_ , exactly, but that’s what Dean understood), about disrespecting the law and him and the entire country ( _really?_ ). He’s fuming and gesturing wildly and refusing to sit down and drink with Dean even though he is standing in the middle of his kitchen and he isn't even wearing his uniform. He looks cosy and comfortable in pale, worn-out jeans and a black tee untucked from his belt. His hair is a mess. His face is flushed and he’s frowning, spitting out more venom at Dean.

“What?” he snaps, and Dean realises he’s been staring at him without really listening to his words. The half-empty bottle of champagne is left forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Nothing,” Dean says and shrugs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re… you’re staring,” Cas says.

“So are you.” Dean grins.

Cas huffs, irritated. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Disrespectful, illegal, blah blah blah. Cas, can you relax? It’s Friday. You’re clearly off duty—”

“How can I relax,” Cas grunts, “when you keep doing everything backwards? I told you—”

“Okay.” Dean turns to the counter, grabs two glass flutes, and fills them with the remaining champagne. When he walks to Cas, he’s still gaping at him with an angry frown, but at least he’s stopped yelling. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to cause you any trouble.”

“It won’t, probably,” Cas mutters. “But I specifically told you how it works.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would matter this much to you, one day more or less—”

“It’s not about me, Dean. It’s about being fair.”

“Okay,” Dean says and hands him the flute. Cas accepts, but he’s still frowning. “Just so you know, I honestly didn’t do it on purpose. Would I call you to say the tub is ready otherwise? You’d realise what happened immediately… And you did.”

Cas lets out a tired sigh and his eyes close. Dean watches the movement from up close and his fingers itch to touch, but Cas still feels jittery and agitated. 

“Just show me the permit and I’ll be on my way,” Cas mumbles without opening his eyes.

“On your way?” Dean asks. “What about the tub?”

Cas looks at him. “What about it? I don’t care anymore, Dean. Do whatever you want with it, just give me the permit and let me go home.”

Dean nods at the champagne in their hands. “What do you think this is, Cas?”

Cas frowns. “You’re trying to appease me with alcohol?” He pushes the flute into Dean’s hands. “I don’t want it, anyway. I need to drive home.”

Dean groans. “Jesus, you really are stupid. It’s not even funny anymore.”

“Dean,” Cas growls. “Do not—”

“Come on.” Dean puts both glasses on the table, grabs Cas by the wrist, and pulls him inside the house, through the living room, out to the backyard. He feels Cas trying to protest, but he ignores him. 

They stop just outside on the porch. When Dean looks over at Cas, he’s staring at the hot tub with something akin to surprise on his face.

It’s completely dark out now, but the tub is illuminated by the tiny lanterns Dean installed around it. The water is foaming, the bubbles a nice lavender colour due to the LED lamps inside the spa. Dean tried not to go overboard but he still ended up leaving two fluffy towels and a basket of red grapes on the bench standing beside the tub.

“I told you the permit was just an excuse,” he finally says when Cas stays silent.

Cas clears his throat. “I thought I told you I’m not interested in your tub.”

“You aren’t?” Dean asks and walks over to the tub to dip his hand in the water. “Mhm. It’s perfect.”

“Dean,” Cas says but doesn’t continue, choosing to stare at Dean instead.

“Cas,” Dean mutters and dips his hand into the water again. “You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

He hears light footsteps and suddenly Cas is standing beside him, in exactly the same position they did almost two weeks ago, right before they kissed and Cas blew Dean in his bedroom. The only difference right now is that they’re completely sober, the tub in front of them is full of hot, inviting water, and Cas’ face looks marvellous in the soft light that's surrounding them.

“Remember Wednesday?” Dean asks casually.

Cas doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”

“We got interrupted.”

“I know.”

“I hated it,” Dean says. “I mean, I get it. It’s your work and everything. But still.”

“I know,” Cas answers, his voice quiet.

“The tub was finished and my first thought was, I wanna invite someone to celebrate. But I don’t really know many people here anymore, and somehow, the first person that came to my mind was you.”

Cas stays silent.

“And I’m not even surprised,” Dean chuckles. “Dude, you’re messing with my head, okay? You’re annoying and insufferable but we didn’t get to finish last time and. I just.”

Dean sees movement in the corner of his eye and, when he turns, Cas is standing in front of him, his t-shirt in his hands and his chest bare.

“I know,” he says. Then, he looks down at his jeans. “I’m not wearing swimwear.”

Dean’s throat feels dry. “It’s a hot tub, man. You don’t need it.”

“What, then?” Cas asks and looks up at him with wide eyes.

Dean shrugs. “Just underwear, I guess? Or, you know. Nothing. It’s not like there’s anyone else to see you.”

Cas narrows his eyes at him but doesn’t answer. Dean watches with growing interest as he drapes his tee over the bench and moves to unbuckle his jeans.

Suddenly, Dean feels nervous. It feels more serious, somehow — to get undressed like that in front of each other, not in the heat of the moment, but to simply spend some quality time together in the tub. They haven’t even kissed yet — and if Dean is being totally honest with himself, he has no idea where they’re standing now and if Cas even wants to kiss him.

Plus, they’re sober and they even stopped fighting.

“I’m—I’m gonna go get that champagne,” Dean murmurs and flees inside. 

The amount of alcohol in the flutes is annoyingly small, but it would probably feel too weird to propose beer instead. He doesn’t have any wine and he has no intention of drinking the whiskey after the headache he suffered the last time. He could probably make them drinks — but what does Cas even like? Dean realises he barely knows the guy and more panic floods in. What are they even doing? It’s not just sex — Cas had said he’s not interested in one-night stands, and frankly, Dean is too tired of those too. But it’s definitely not a relationship of any kind.

Dean would really like to hide in his bedroom, but by now Cas is probably naked in his hot tub and Dean can’t do that.

He grabs the champagne and slowly walks out of the house.

Just as Dean predicted, Cas is already inside the tub, but he’s sitting rigid and uncertain, as if he isn’t sure how to behave with all the bubbles around him. Seeing him like that makes Dean smile and some of his nervousness miraculously dissipates.

“Hey,” he calls quietly. Cas’ head whips to look at him, and Dean passes him the champagne again. “I could make us drinks for later ‘cause the rest of the champagne is gone, obviously. What would you like?”

Cas sips the champagne and peers at him over the glass. Dean tries not to stare too hard at the broad shoulders visible above the water. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is smooth and calm, even though his body stays stiff. “I don’t particularly like mixed drinks.”

Dean chuckles. “Of course. You’re a whisky with ice kinda guy, aren’t you?”

“I find them too sweet,” Cas says. “If I drink, I don’t want it to feel like I’m drinking orange juice.”

“Okay. No drinks, then.” Dean nods. “Do you want me to get the whisky? I should have some left, just enough for you.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Cas answers and squints at him. “I’m not here to get drunk.”

Dean licks his lips. “Why are you here?”

Cas empties the rest of the glass and hands it to Dean. “You invited me to try your new tub, didn’t you? This is what I’m doing.”

“Okay.” Dean drinks his own champagne and puts both empty glasses away. “How does it feel, then?” he asks and leans on the tub with his hip.

Cas’ shoulders seem to stiffen even more. “Aren’t you going to try it yourself?” he asks.

“I guess?” Dean says. “I mean. Yeah. Probably.”

“Tonight?” Cas asks and he looks like he’s ready to stand up and leave any time.

Dean hesitates. “I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” he says quickly.

Cas does stand up then, in all his naked glory except for his plain black boxers, now completely soaked and sticking to him like a second skin, accentuating the sharp cut of his hipbones and the hard muscles of his thighs. Dean swallows at the sight, most of his blood rushing south while his eyes rake over Cas’ wet body right in front of him.

“Dean,” Cas nearly growls, and then he takes a step, still inside the tub, and kneels on the seat on its other side, almost exactly where Dean is standing and gaping at him.

He leans on the edge of the tub with his hands and tilts slightly forward. His face is close to Dean’s now, his eyes dark because suddenly all the light on the porch doesn’t reach him anymore. He smells like hot skin and the almond bubbles Dean put in the water.

“I’m tired, Dean,” Cas says quietly. Dean watches as the droplets slide off his skin, slowly, hypnotizing. “I told you I want to go home and get some rest, but you asked so now I’m here instead. Are you now trying to tell me I’m here only to test your stupid spa?”

“It’s not stupid,” Dean croaks.

“Do you want me to go home so you can have fun with it alone?” Cas asks.

Dean blinks at him. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you still wearing clothes? Unless you want to get them all wet.”

Dean’s throat works, but no sound comes. For a moment, he stares at Cas, still unsure, and then Cas moves again and presses his lips to Dean’s. 

It’s a chaste kiss that coaxes a surprised sigh out of Dean, but there’s a quiet urgency to it, as if Cas wants to get more of Dean but is too hesitant to reach for it. Dean makes it easier for him and parts his lips to let him inside, and then they’re kissing again, harder and deeper, Cas’ lips quick and wet and perfect where they push against Dean’s, their tongues intermingling and their breaths fast.

Cas moans quietly against him, and Dean decides it’s not enough — he reaches out to touch and to pull, and is surprised to feel Cas’ hot skin beneath his fingertips. He has completely forgotten Cas is nearly naked and kneeling in his tub and that, if he wants, he can touch everything that was not available to him the last time they did this.

Cas clearly has other plans, though, because just when Dean decides to tentatively touch Cas’ chest, there are fingers pulling on his t-shirt and sliding along his stomach. Dean gasps and pulls away.

“Take it off,” Cas grunts at him.

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles. “Okay.”

He’s quick to pull his tee over his head and throw it away, but when he moves to take off his pants, too, Cas reaches out and grabs his hands.

“No,” he says. “Come here.”

Dean swallows, but nods and goes back to standing right in front of Cas, his hips almost pressed to the side of the tub. Cas looks at him, eyes dark and questioning, and his fingers slowly push underneath his jeans.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks. “Yeah, Cas, do it.”

Cas doesn’t stop looking at him even when his nimble fingers unbuckle Dean’s belt and open his button. Dean is breathing hard when Cas pulls his zipper down and places both his hands on Dean’s hips. He’s still looking straight into Dean’s eyes so Dean knows he still can’t see what’s underneath Dean’s jeans.

Eager and only a little nervous, Dean gets to watch his reaction when Cas pushes Dean’s jeans off his hips and finally looks down. His lips fall open at the sight and he quickly looks at Dean’s face again, eyes full of wonderment and something else, something Dean isn’t sure what to call yet. Cas doesn’t give him a chance, anyway, because he’s quickly looking down again and staring at the black panties Dean is wearing. There’s no lace this time, but the material is smooth and silky and stretched nicely against Dean’s crotch, with the tiniest pink ribbon at the front of the waistband.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas murmurs and brushes his fingers across the fabric at Dean’s side. 

“Last time was an accident,” Dean explains quickly. He can feel a blush creeping up onto his face. “I wasn’t expecting you to see them, but then you did and I think you liked it—”

“Yes,” Cas says and looks up. His hand is still touching Dean’s hip, his fingers playing with the delicate hem of the panties. Dean’s knees feel a little weak. “I did.”

“Yeah,” Dean clears his throat. “That’s why— Tonight—”

“Come on,” Cas murmurs and then he’s stepping away, backing into the tub, taking with him his smell and heat and lips and fingers. Dean sways a little in the spot. “Dean, _come on_ ,” Cas repeats urgently, dips his hand in the water, and wriggles his fingers.

“Okay,” Dean says hoarsely and bends down to quickly take off his shoes and socks. He hears Cas sitting down again and he can feel his gaze when he’s trying to get into the tub from the ground, ignoring the little stairs that are there for exactly this purpose. He splashes into the water so inelegantly he’s honestly surprised Cas isn’t laughing out loud at him.

He’s not. Instead, Cas slides and sits himself right at Dean’s side, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee, the foam moving to the other side of the tub and leaving the water more or less clear. Dean feels Cas’ hand on his hip and when he looks, he can see it playing with the panties yet again, fingers curious and gentle against the fabric.

Dean turns his head and kisses Cas full on the lips. He doesn’t think there’s any pretense left between them — Cas told him he has no interest in testing the hot tub alone and Dean basically admitted he’s wearing the fancy underwear just for Cas. He pours all of this into the kiss and Cas responds in a similar fashion, almost pinning Dean to the side of the tub and exploring his mouth and his body under the surface of the water.

Dean lets out a moan when Cas fingers brush against his cock hidden under the panties. He’s been getting hard since they first started kissing and he hardens more under Cas’ ministrations. The hot water, the scent of almonds, the foam — they’re all making Dean’s body relaxed and pliant, but it’s Cas’ hot lips and hands that are turning his insides to fire.

Cas touches him through his underwear again just as Dean licks into his mouth, hands on both sides of Castiel’s face to pull him closer. Dean moans and moves his hips languidly, seeking out more friction. Cas gives it to him, rubbing his entire hand over Dean’s cock, and then slowly coaxing him out of his panties, his lazy strokes timed with slow moves of his lips.

Dean moans and hides his face in the crook of Cas’ shoulder. His hips keep bucking up, meeting Cas’ hand and trying to fuck into it, even though Cas’ grip is too loose for him to really feel anything.

“Come on, Cas,” he groans. “Come on, do it.”

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas whispers into his ear and thumbs lightly against the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Dean pants. “More of this. Please.”

“Of course,” Cas hums. He kisses Dean on the lips again, fingers barely playing with his hardness until they touch his panties again. “Take them off, please.”

Dean doesn’t answer, just quickly stands up in the water and tries to slip his underwear down his legs without losing his balance. Cas reaches out and keeps a hand on Dean’s hip, grounding him. 

When Dean is done, he tries to sit down, but Cas is still holding his hip and looking up at him. His face is flushed and lovely, lips red, eyes dark and hungry. His hair is curling from all the hot water, tiny locks falling against his forehead and hiding behind his ears.

“I want to try something,” Cas says slowly, and the fingers on Dean’s hip tighten. “Are you okay with trying something new?”

Dean swallows. “Cas, I— I don’t know.”

“You can tell me to stop. You don’t have to do anything. Just tell me to stop if you don’t like it.”

“What is it?” Dean asks.

Cas reaches out with his other hand and slowly turns Dean around. Dean stiffens a little but lets Cas manoeuvre him anyway until he’s standing with his back and ass turned to Cas.

“It’ll feel better when I do it from this angle,” Cas says quietly, and then he’s gently pulling Dean closer. “Come, sit down.”

Dean does, carefully, and Cas moves so that his legs are spread around Dean’s sides. He feels Cas’ hardness nudge against his back and he gasps, but then Cas pulls away slowly and drops a gentle kiss on Dean’s shoulder blade. 

“Can I touch you again?” Cas whispers.

His soft voice, combined with the gentle touch of his lips against his back and his hands hovering over his sides, make Dean relax yet again, slowly falling back until he presses into Cas’ chest and closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathes quietly. “Please, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t wait any longer and wraps his whole hand around Dean’s cock. Dean lets out a loud sigh and arches his back. Cas was right — it does feel better this way. Cas moves his arm slowly but surely and soon he has Dean gasping and clutching at Cas’ thighs that are spread on both his sides. He’s half-lying on Cas now and with every other move, he can feel Cas’ erection against the small of his back, even through Cas’ boxers. It’s a weird feeling, but it’s not unpleasant, and Dean finds himself pressing harder into Cas, seeking out the feel of Cas right there, just above his ass.

He finally pushes hard enough that he ends up almost sitting in Cas’ lap. Cas lets him, dragging him up with one hand on his hip, his other hand still moving up and down Dean’s cock. Dean feels Cas’ hardness press firmly into the gap between his cheeks and he moans filthily, pushing down until he’s sure he’s seeing stars. Cas plants an open-mouthed kiss against Dean’s neck and then Dean’s coming, his back arching and his lips parted in pleasure.

Cas keeps kissing his neck when Dean comes down from his high, breath hard and eyes shut. Dean can still feel Cas’ hard cock against his ass even though Cas isn’t moving except for mapping Dean’s neck with his lips. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out loud. He moves his hips, experimentally, and is delighted to hear Cas’ soft gasp right against his ear. “You like that, Cas?”

Cas doesn’t answer, just sucks a mark into Dean’s neck and tightens his hands on Dean’s hips. Dean doesn’t think — he feels dizzy and blissed out and amazing — and he grinds down again, shamelessly rubbing against Cas’ erection and _loving it_.

“Dean,” Cas gasps helplessly and his fingers dig hard into the soft skin of Dean’s sides.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean coaxes drunkenly. “Come on, let go.”

Cas whimpers against Dean’s neck and moves his hips ever so gently, barely even there. Dean closes his eyes and rubs against him again, and he’s sure he could come again just from the feeling of Cas’ dick against his ass if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s completely spent from his last orgasm.

“Come for me, Cas,” Dean drawls, grinding down again. “Wanna feel you come, babe.”

Cas finally — _finally_ — grips Dean’s hips, _hard_ , and pulls him down, keeping him in place as his hips buckle up, once, twice, his clothed cock pushing in between Dean's ass, and then he’s moaning loudly against Dean’s ear and his entire body seems to tense as he reaches his orgasm. Dean turns around in Cas’ lap, inelegant and panting, throws his arms around Cas’ neck, and kisses the moans right from Cas’ lips. They keep kissing even when Cas melts against the side of the bath and sighs dreamily into Dean’s mouth.

“Good?” Dean hums.

Cas licks lazily against his lips, eyes barely open. “Very good.”

“Can’t believe you’re still wearing underwear,” Dean chuckles.

“Should’ve taken it off,” Cas murmurs sleepily. “Don’t have anything to change into.”

Dean kisses against his jaw. “I can lend you something.”

“Is it going to be pretty and lacy?” Cas whispers.

“No,” Dean says and sucks a kiss under Cas’ ear. “Those are mine to wear and yours to look at.”

Cas hums. “Fair enough.”

“Besides, I’ve got a suggestion,” Dean says casually. “Why don’t you stay and wait until your underwear is dry again.”

“That would require getting out of here first,” Cas chuckles.

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles. “In a while.”

Somehow, they end up making out lazily right there, in the tub, for the next half an hour, and when Dean gets hard again, Cas helps him sit at the edge of the tub and takes care of him with his mouth. After, Dean doesn’t feel like getting into the water again, so he pulls Cas out with him, only to take him upstairs to his bedroom. They keep kissing until they fall into bed, and there, propped against the pillows, Dean watches as Cas jacks himself off, looking at him with hungry eyes and parted lips. He allows Dean to touch him, tentatively, and when Cas comes, it’s with Dean’s hand clasped surely around his leaking cock and Dean’s tongue exploring his mouth.

They’re both grinning lazily afterwards, curled around each other, sweaty and satisfied. Dean thinks he should feel weird — he’s never done that to anyone before, not even to Michael, but it’s not a bad thing. For some reason, the fact that he could help bring Cas pleasure, that Cas was the first he did this with — it feels more than amazing.

Which is probably why he ends up telling Cas about Michael.

“We met at a party,” he murmurs without looking at Cas even though he can feel Cas’ eyes on the side of his face. “The premiere of one of his movies, I think, which used my music in the credits. Huge thing. Lots of alcohol. We’d kinda known each other already, but never really met face to face. But then we did, and… it kind of just happened, I guess.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, just hums, encouraging Dean to say more.

“It was on and off, really. A few parties, a few secret meetings. Some phone sex.” Dean chuckles without feeling particularly amused. “For some reason, he never wanted me to get him off, and I never insisted.”

“Never?” Cas asks quietly, breath warm against Dean’s naked shoulder.

“Nope,” Dean mutters. “Don’t know why, I never asked. To be honest, I was usually fine with it. Meant I could, you know. Pretend for a bit longer.”

Cas’ lips brushes Dean’s skin. “What happened later?”

“The usual, really,” Dean says. “There was this one party, and we decided to ditch it, call a cab, and go to a hotel or something. Some damn paparazzi managed to take a photo of us kissing, but it was impossible to recognise Michael, so the news focused mostly on me. Some time after that, Michael’s manager approached me and explicitly told me it wouldn’t end well for me if I ever exposed Michael. He even knew about, um… my underwear of choice. Michael must’ve told him. So I packed and left the city the next day.”

“And you came here,” Cas says, voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Dean says with a sigh. “Do you think it was a mistake? Should I have stayed in Austin and done something?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. He props himself up on one elbow and leans down to press his lips to Dean’s. “But I’m glad you came.”

Dean laughs and wraps his arms around Cas’ warm body to pull him closer.


	7. Chapter 7

There’s a hot breath against Dean’s ear and a heavy weight on top of him. He doesn’t panic — he knows exactly who this is and what’s happening, and even though it does send his heart racing, he doesn’t even think about moving away. Strong hands grip him hard by the shoulders and push him down onto the bed, and for a moment he can’t breathe — and then he feels it, spreading through him like wildfire, neither pain nor pleasure, and he hasn’t ever tried it before but he knows what’s happening — he knows, he _feels_ Castiel inside him, and it’s making him weak with pleasure and tearing a moan after moan from his lips—

A loud screech just outside his window wakes Dean up so suddenly, he thinks he still can feel the phantom weight of Cas’ body all over him for a moment. It disappears, though, when the bird screams again and flies away with a loud flap of its wings, leaving Dean confused and alone in the middle of his own bed.

He’s also naked, he realises, and painfully hard beneath the covers. Without thinking, he reaches down and takes himself in hand. He jerks off, slow but firm, and is soon coming with his head thrown back and the memory of dream-Cas fucking him into the mattress still clear in his head.

It’s only half an hour later that he finally convinces himself to get out of bed. He makes a face at the mess and strips it down to the bare mattress. After the night he’s had, he really needs to do the laundry. 

He stops in the middle of the stairs when he realises something is missing. Something, or _someone_.

He dumps the dirty sheets into the laundry basket and curiously walks into the kitchen. It’s empty — but before he can start trying to convince himself last night was just a dream, he notices a pot of coffee on the kitchen counter. It’s lukewarm at best when he touches it, but since he doesn’t remember waking up early in the morning to make it, he must be right to assume it was Cas.

Cas, who made Dean come twice last night, stayed the night, listened to Dean talk about Michael, and apparently left before Dean could wake up.

He shouldn’t let it sting as much as it does because he realises Cas is probably working today — he never even thought about asking — but it’s not an entirely pleasant feeling either. Dean’s used to this behaviour, if he’s being completely honest with himself, and very often he has been the one to leave early, before the person beside him could wake up and start asking questions. It actually happened most of the time Dean’s had one night stands, but—

...but he thought this wasn’t supposed to be a one night stand.

“Get a fucking grip, Winchester,” he mumbles to himself and stalks towards the bathroom. He needs a shower, a long one, and he needs breakfast, and he needs to stop fretting over everything because Cas is working and he’s busy but he’s going to call him as soon as he gets some free time, Dean’s sure of it.

♡♡♡

The entire day passes and Cas doesn’t call.

Dean sits on the porch and stares mindlessly at the empty hot tub as the sun slowly dips behind the trees. There’s a bottle of beer by Dean’s right hand but he doesn’t feel like drinking at all. He tried to stay busy for the whole day — cleaning, doing the laundry, going shopping. He refrained from dropping by the sheriff’s station because it felt like too much and too soon, and Dean can call himself a lot of things but he doesn’t like to think he’s desperate. He even attempted to write some music to get his thoughts off Castiel, but he wasn’t able to come up with rhymes to the most common words and he gave it up pretty quickly. Late in the afternoon, when he was staring at the black screen of his cell, he realised he and Cas had never exchanged numbers — so waiting for a text or a call from him was pretty useless. Soon the evening came, though, and he knew Cas would be finishing his shift soon… well, probably, because he still doesn’t know Cas’ working hours all that well. If there was a time for Cas to come by, it’s now — but the minutes pass and Cas doesn’t appear.

When night finally falls, Dean forces himself to get up and head back inside. It’s not the end of the world, he tries to convince himself as he makes dinner. He’s had worse. 

He decides to call the sheriff’s department tomorrow and goes to sleep way before midnight like freaking Cinderella in distress.

♡♡♡

“Deputy Jackson, how can I help you?” Alfie’s young voice asks and Dean freezes with the phone pressed to his ear. 

He was sure Cas would pick up the phone — he did last time — and he has the entire story ready in his mind but the deputy’s voice throws him off so much that he stays completely quiet for a long, awkward moment. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?”Alfie asks again.

“Uh, yeah. Hi, Alfie,” Dean stutters.

“Uh, hi? Who’s this?”

Dean wants to smack himself with the coffee cup he’s holding. “It’s Dean. Winchester. We met the other day at the station?”

“Ah, yes,” Alfie says happily. “Of course. Of course I know who you are.”

Dean lets out a small sigh. “Yeah. Uh, listen, is the sheriff around?”

“Not presently,” Alfie says. “Is there a problem? Do you need assistance?”

“Uh,” Dean stutters again. “Maybe? I mean, probably. There’s this… Well, I think I have a wild animal problem… somewhere… around my house,” he finishes and closes his eyes, embarrassed. No one can see him right now, but he’s realising how lame his stupid story sounds and he really wants to immediately hang up and pretend it never happened — but he gave his name and Alfie would surely call him back or something to ask questions anyway. 

“Wild animals?” Alfie asks. “Have you seen anything or are you just hearing the noises?”

Dean can’t stop cursing himself in his head. “Uh, noises. Mostly at night.” That would work perfectly if he wanted to persuade Cas to come visit him and stay the night again, but right now it’s stupid and embarrassing. Dean wishes the Earth would swallow him whole. “I think I saw something big and red in the trees around the house,” he mumbles. 

If Cas came by, they could sneak around the woods and Dean could pin him to a tree and kiss him senseless.

“Like a fox?” Alfie asks, all business.

“Yeah,” Dean says lamely. “I think so.”

“Have you found any damage around your property? Scratches, bites, anything like that?”

“Uh, no. Not yet, at least.”

“Perfect. Well then, thank you for your call. I promise we’ll check it out soon,” Alfie says.

Dean perks up. “Oh. _We_? Okay then, I know he’s probably busy, but if you could ask the sher—”

“Sorry, Mr. Winchester,” Alfie interrupts before Dean can finish his thought. “Someone just came by with what looks like a very broken nose and a baseball bat and I think I should check what happened. Thank you again for your call!”

He hangs up and Dean is left staring at his cell, confusion and a tiny flicker of hope battling inside his mind.

♡♡♡

The hope dies when he opens his door three hours later and is met with Alfie’s kind smile.

“Hello again, Mr. Winchester!” Alfie chirps. Dean tries not to look too disappointed.

“Please. It’s Dean,” he says and opens the door wider to let the kid inside. 

“Okay. Hello, Dean.” Alfie grins.

Dean has to turn back to hide the scowl that appears on his face at his words. For some reason it sounds all wrong — Alfie’s voice is high-pitched and smooth and young, he’s smiling in the wrong way, and looking at Dean all friendly and admiring. It’s weird, because Cas definitely wasn’t the first one to use “hello, Dean” on him — but it’s like he’s had it engraved on his brain and any other variation is going to sound weird to him now.

Cas would scowl and grouse and sigh a lot, and he would call Dean out on his bullshit and see straight through him. Instead, Alfie is holding a flashlight and something that looks like an animal trap.

Dean doesn’t have the heart to tell him there is no wild animal because, for some reason, the kid looks excited, as if he has never done anything like this before.

“I’ve never dealt with wild animals before,” Alfie says, as if reading Dean’s mind, and Dean groans internally. Great. Now he’s wasting the kid’s time and for what? Because he’s too chickenshit to just visit Cas at the station like a normal human being, afraid he would come off as too eager and therefore not worth the effort.

“Oh,” he mutters. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright, then?”

“Oh yes,” Alfie says. “I’ve done some research. Now I know how to operate this,” he nods towards the trap he’s holding, “and I should be able to at least identify the animal you’re dealing with from the prints in the ground around your house.”

“I’m… not sure there are any,” Dean says. “At least I haven’t seen them.”

“We’ll find them, don’t worry,” Alfie says with a wide smile. 

They walk through the house and out onto the porch, and Alfie whistles at the sight of the hot tub. 

“Wow, this is nice,” he says, impressed. “I’m glad you managed to get all the permits!”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “Me too. Listen, Alfie… I don’t want you to waste your time here. Maybe there’s someone around at the station that, you know, knows more about this kind of thing? As I said, there are no prints anywhere and I mostly hear the noises at night, so there’s probably no point in—”

“Dean,” Alfie says and sends him an offended look. “I’m capable of setting up one tiny trap.”

“It’s not that tiny,” Dean says, eyeing the thing in Alfie’s arms.

Alfie ignores him. “Besides, no one else is around. I mean, there’s Victor, but he definitely doesn’t deal with stuff like this. It’s a small town, Dean, we don’t usually need that many people at the station.”

“What about sheriff Novak?” Dean asks the question that’s been bothering him since Alfie told him Cas was not around on the phone.

“Oh, he’s away,” Alfie says. “Will be for another day or two, and we don’t want the animal sneaking into your house in the meantime, do we?”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, distracted. He watches as Alfie walks towards the edge of his property and curiously looks around the trees surrounding the cabin. “So, uh. Where’s the sheriff, if I may ask?”

“Houston,” Alfie says.

“Houston? As in, Houston, Texas?” Dean asks, trying to sound matter-of-fact and failing miserably. Fortunately, Alfie seems too preoccupied with the trap he’s currently trying to set to notice.

“Yeah. There’s some sheriff’s retreat there, or something like that. Maybe a conference.”

Texas hits pretty close to home, Dean thinks nervously, and he’s been trying to escape home for the last month or so. He hopes it doesn’t mean anything. 

“Cool,” he mutters. “When did he leave?”

“Saturday, early in the morning,” Alfie says. “He had to catch a morning flight from Charleston, I think.”

Dean’s stomach does a weird flip at Alfie’s words — if Castiel left early on Saturday, he must have been exhausted after Friday night. He didn’t mention anything, but that’s probably why he wanted to go home and sleep — he knew he had a few-hour journey ahead of him. 

He stayed anyway.

Dean has no idea how to feel about that.

“Is he having fun?” he asks casually.

“I think so,” Alfie says, looking up at him from where he’s currently crouching on the ground, trying to wrangle the trap into staying in one place. “Although he did mention he’d rather be home. He’s not overly sociable, the sheriff, as you might have noticed. But he’s a great person, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. He can’t stop the sheepish smile from appearing on his face. “I think I do.”

♡♡♡

The next day, at the grocery store, Dean buys tea.

He spends at least five minutes standing in front of the shelf with various kinds of tea and racking his brain trying to decide which one he should buy. He had no idea how many different teas there are in the world — he’s heard of black and green, sure, but yellow? And what the hell is an oolong, for God’s sake?

A few people cast him suspicious glances as he stands there, three boxes of tea in his hands, reading about ways of brewing and perfect temperatures and blends and fragrance. He ends up tossing all of them into his cart and strolling away angrily, trying not to look like he cares this much about stupid leaf water.

He doesn’t even drink it when he gets home, just stuffs it into the cupboard and tries not to look at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the kitchen table — but he does anyway. It’s only Monday, and Alfie said Cas isn’t supposed to be back until at least Tuesday. 

Dean has never wished he had someone’s phone number more.

♡♡♡

Jo hasn’t changed at all — she’s still attractive, quick-witted, and sarcastic, and Dean feels as if no time has passed since they last saw each other some ten years ago. He knew it was a good idea as soon as he got Ellen’s message about Jo being back in town for a day or two. He really needs a distraction, and having lunch with his old friend turns out to be an excellent way to forget about his current worries.

Well, worries is a big word. He’s not really worried, per se — he’s just extremely frustrated. He had no idea one guy’s absence could be so difficult, but he’s learning it’s possible. He hasn’t jerked off this much in months and he can’t wait to finally put his hands back on Cas as soon as he comes back, but…

...it’s not just that.

Dean’s alone in the cabin, but he’s got friends in town, so it’s not that he’s feeling lonely. He goes out, meets old friends — just like Jo right now — talks with Sam on the phone _a lot_. He even called Charlie this weekend and somehow ended up spilling the beans about Cas. It’s possible she may know him too well.

So no, he’s not lonely — but he still feels weird with Cas so suddenly gone from his vicinity. It’s been only four days and he kind of misses the way they always argue so much. He wants to _talk_ to Cas, tease him, exchange opinions and heated words and get to know each other better. He really, _really_ wishes he had Cas’ private number — but asking Alfie for it seems a bit too desperate, even for him. He tries to tell himself he’ll get it as soon as Cas comes back and keeps pushing the thought to the back of his mind. 

Fortunately, Jo doesn’t seem to see right through him, even when Dean accidentally asks a few innocent questions about the sheriff. Soon, they’re finishing their lunch and heading out of the diner, Jo still chattering about one thing or the other and Dean too distracted to really listen to her. Dean drops her off at the Roadhouse because Ellen lives near the bar, and then drives through the town and stops by the grocery store to stock the fridge. 

He’s already at the register and is smiling at the cashier that keeps chattering about how she loves his music when he feels someone touch his shoulder. He turns around, only a bit startled, and is met with Alfie’s joyful gaze.

“Hey, Dean,” Alfie says with a wide smile. “Good to see you again!”

“Hi.” Dean smiles back. “You too.”

“Is everything okay with the animals?” Alfie asks. For a moment, Dean is confused, but then he remembers his silly ruse with the wild animals and the trap and he looks away, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I hope they’re not bothering you anymore.”

“Nah,” Dean mutters. “Haven’t found anything caught in the trap, too, so hopefully they’re just gone.”

Alfie sighs in relief. “That’s good. I was a bit afraid it could end up being something… bigger than a fox.”

Dean gathers all of his items and they shuffle away from the register so that the next person in line can take Dean’s place. 

“What, like bears?” Dean sends Alfie an amused look. “Do we even have bears in our woods?”

“I’m not sure,” Alfie chuckles, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“That’d be interesting,” Dean muses. “To see a real bear.”

Alfie laughs at him as they walk out of the store and into the parking lot. Dean gestures towards the Impala parked nearby. 

“That’s me. Where’re you parked?”

Alfie smiles. “I walked here. I didn’t want to take the car now that the sheriff is back and might need—”

Dean’s head turns back towards Alfie so fast, he feels something snap in his neck. He winces, hand coming up to rub at it, but it doesn’t matter — it’s like he doesn’t even really feel it, not now.

“Cas is back?” he blurts out.

He doesn’t miss the knowing look Alfie sends him, but he can’t be bothered by it. 

“He is,” Alfie says, all smirks and meaningful gazes. Dean ignores them. “He came back last night but insisted on coming to work today too. But he needed coffee.” Alfie gestures to the cup he’s holding. Dean hadn’t really noticed it before. “That’s why I’m here, actually.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He has only a few seconds to think his next words through, but it’s enough. Right now, he doesn’t even care how it sounds. “Do you want me to give you a ride back to the station?”

“It’s not that far—”

“I don’t mind,” Dean says quickly.

Alfie smiles. “Okay. Thanks, Dean.”

“Sure.” Dean tries to sound nonchalant. “I’ve got no other plans anyway.”

They both get inside the car and Dean pulls away. Alfie is chattering away about something, but Dean can’t concentrate on his words enough to even know what he’s talking about or think about a response, his thoughts circling around Castiel and what he’s going to do when he sees him and if he’s going to be confident enough to simply ask Cas to come by yet again. He’s going to have to finally ask him for his phone number, too. And maybe he can swing by the store one more time and fix up something nice for dinner, buy a bottle of wine, set them up on the porch, maybe use the tiny lanterns he had around the tub last time…

“Dean,” he hears Alfie’s concerned voice. “You missed the turn.”

“Oh. Right.” Dean flashes Alfie a smile he hopes doesn’t look as hopeless as he feels. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Alfie says. “Maybe the sheriff will heat up his coffee…”

Dean pushes his foot harder into the pedal and swerves so quickly, the Impala’s wheels screech on the road. He can feel Alfie shooting him an appraising look, but he pretends he can’t see it.

Not a minute later, Dean parks the car in front of the sheriff’s department and looks over at Alfie, trying to find something to say. Can he just get out and go see Cas, just like that? Will Cas think it’s weird? Maybe he can find some way to let Alfie know he’d love it if he mentioned to Cas that Dean is waiting outside, so that Cas walks out to talk—

Dean’s eyes move from Alfie scrambling out of the car to the pair standing just outside the station and he freezes.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to try to think of a way to lure Cas out, because Cas is already there — but he’s not alone. Cas and the man he’s talking to both turn towards him when Dean parks the car and Dean immediately recognises the man beside Castiel. He’s wearing dark glasses and a very casual leather jacket, something Dean has never see him wear, but it’s not difficult to miss the nasty smirk that adorns his face. 

For reasons unknown to Dean, Castiel is talking with Ishim Jacobs, Michael’s manager, the very same person that threatened to destroy Dean’s entire career if he was to come out to the public and admit he was involved with Michael.

Dean can hear Alfie greeting both men, can see Castiel opening his mouth to say something, can feel Ishim’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t stay to see what happens next. Instead, he slams his foot down on the gas pedal and drives away.


	8. Chapter 8

“Let me get this straight,” Charlie says, and somehow she doesn’t even sound pissed even though she definitely must be, at least a bit. “First you just… drop everything, cancel the tour, and disappear for days, hole up in some freaking village at the end of the world—”

“It’s in West Virginia, Charlie,” Dean interrupts.

She ignores him. Dean swears he can almost see her scowl, even through the phone. “...and now, finally, you remember about me only to ask for help? You’re such a jerk, Dean Winchester.”

“Not… help, exactly,” Dean murmurs and winces. He debated for a long time whether to call her or not, but he gathered she should hear it from him and not from the tabloids. “Just… I need you to keep an eye on what people may say about me, and also, maybe, not believe everything they do?”

“Dean.” Charlie heaves an annoyed sigh. “Have I _ever_ believed some dumb journalist over you? Who do you take me for?”

Dean paces his bedroom, phone pressed to his ear. Outside, he can see the sun setting behind the sharp treetops, painting the sky red and orange. He would stop and admire the view if he wasn’t fretting about this entire thing this much. 

“Sorry, Charlie. I just… Listen, it’s not exactly easy to talk about it.”

“It’s about Michael, isn’t it?” Charlie asks.

Dean gasps. “What? How do you—”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” Charlie hisses at him. “You weren’t exactly subtle, okay? I _know_ something happened between the two of you, and I’m pretty sure it went to hell and that’s why you’re hiding now. Don’t worry. I’ve been keeping an eye on things around him. No one has any proof.”

“Oh… okay,” Dean mutters. He’s not exactly shocked, but he really thought no one noticed anything, but maybe he really wasn’t that clever. And Charlie _isn’t_ stupid, either. “Do you think anyone else knows it was him?”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Charlie says. “I mean, they’re still talking about the secret boyfriend, but I don’t think I’ve heard anything about Michael himself. Why?”

“No one can know,” Dean says ruefully. “About Michael, I mean. I don’t really care about me anymore, you know? But, uh… Ishim kind of told me to keep my mouth shut or else.”

“What the hell?” Charlie screeches. “Or else what? How dare he—”

“He’s probably just protecting Michael,” Dean mutters. “I don’t think he’s ever gonna come out. He’s— he’s kinda weird, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay, but what does Ishim want to do to you?” Charlie asks. “What, tell the public about you? They all know anyway, and then it would just be suspicious that _Michael’s manager_ has that kind of intel—”

“I know,” Dean says. “He just said he’d, uh, ruin me, or something. I’m not entirely sure.” He doesn’t mention the panties. This is not something his _manager_ needs to know.

Charlie takes a deep breath. “And what, you heard that and decided to run away instead of telling anyone about it? Do you think hiding’s going to help?”

“I’m not hiding,” Dean snaps. “I just needed a fucking break, okay? That thing with Michael… I don’t even really wanna think about him anymore, okay? It kind of messed me up, Charlie. I really needed to just forget about all of it for a while.”

“And what, did you?” Charlie asks, her voice more gentle now.

“What?”

“Did you forget, Dean? Are you ready to get back and deal with it?”

Dean smiles to himself, but it’s bitter. “Turns out I messed up here as well. I think I just always do everything wrong, wherever I go.”

“Dean,” Charlie chastises. “What’s with the pity party? What happened?”

“I’m… not sure,” Dean mumbles. “But I saw Ishim.”

“Wha— _Ishim Jacobs_? In West Virginia?”

“Yeah,” Dean says tiredly. “He’s here… or at least he was here a few hours ago.”

“But why? Is he looking for you or what?”

“I have no idea,” Dean says.

“Did he contact you? Did you talk to him?”

“No,” Dean admits. “I saw him from my car, he saw me, and then I drove away. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. I’m kind of scared to go online right now.”

“But… you haven’t told the public, have you? I haven’t seen anything about this anywhere, Dean…”

“Not the public, no,” Dean murmurs. “But I may have told… _someone_.”

Dean can feel his insides twist painfully when he thinks of the possibility of Cas taking advantage of the trust Dean has put in him, but he can’t seem to find any other possible explanation for Ishim being here and talking to Cas. He can’t. He’s tried to reason with himself, he thought it through, looked at it from every side… And he can’t find any other answer.

Dean shared his and Michael’s past with Cas, and now Cas must have used this knowledge somehow. It’s understandable that Ishim will try to do everything to stop Cas from sharing this with the world.

Ishim will find a way to buy Castiel’s silence.

“Who did you tell, Dean?”

He ends up spilling his guts to Charlie about everything, and only manages to somehow stop being anxious after Charlie swears there is _nothing new about him_ on the _entire_ Internet. She doesn’t even really try to yell at Dean all that much, and Dean has never been more grateful for having Charlie Bradbury in his dumb, miserable life before.

♡♡♡

Dean’s only had one beer when he leaves the house the next day and finds a hare caught in the trap in the woods.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters as he bends down to inspect the poor animal. It’s alive and not horribly hurt, but it doesn’t really move away when it notices Dean come closer. Dean presumes it must be tired or in shock or maybe both, and he does his best to very slowly open the trap and let the animal free.

He swears again when the hare hops but falls flat on its belly, its hind leg dragging after it, brown fur matted with dried blood. The hare tries to bounce away a few more times, but then simply gives up and lies down on the grass, breathing heavily. 

Dean does some quick research on his phone and finds an animal hospital in the town, not far away from the sheriff’s station. He curses mentally again, irritated but determined, and goes inside the house in search of something he could use to transport the animal. He finds an old willow basket in the kitchen and walks back out, half hoping the hare has managed to sneak away, proof that it will be fine on its own. It’s still there, though, just panting and heaving, and Dean wraps his hands in a used towel and carefully puts the animal inside the basket. It wriggles a little, but can’t really escape without hurting its leg even further.

Fortunately, the clinic is still open and almost empty, save for a woman with a small boy and a puppy in his arms. The vet takes one look at the hare in Dean’s basket and doesn’t ask too many questions as she takes it from him and soon disappears inside one of the rooms. 

Dean waits for a few minutes, but when the vet comes back and tells him everything will be fine with the hare, Dean only nods and decides there’s nothing else he can do. Well, apart from getting rid of that stupid trap — it’s all his fault, if he didn’t freaking lie about those noises and wild animals, the poor bunny would never get caught and hurt. All because Dean couldn’t deal with his life like a normal human being.

Fuming, he goes out of the clinic and into the sunny parking lot. It’s late in the afternoon and he feels like he needs alcohol, and soon.

He stops dead in his tracks when he spots a tall figure standing by the Impala not a few feet away. There’s an uncomfortable twist in his stomach and an embarrassing tremble in his hands as he finally reaches the car and, completely ignoring the sheriff standing right beside him, puts the key into the lock and turns.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean can feel his eyes on his face, but he can’t look back. He doesn’t even want to know what he would see in Cas’ eyes now — satisfaction, regret, disdain? Whatever happened between Castiel and Ishim, it must have been good for Castiel and not so good for Dean. Ishim has money, lots of it. Dean can only imagine how easy it would be to convince anyone — and especially a person that barely even knows Dean and who has seen Dean do things no one really did before — to stay quiet.

Cas is just a sheriff in a small town in West Virginia. Dean barely knows him, and he was stupid — so, so stupid — to trust him with that information. It pains him to think about Cas like this — but is there any other explanation for this whole mess? 

Charlie suggested talking to him, but Dean can barely even look the guy in the face now without breaking down completely, let alone _talk to him_. 

So when Castiel repeats Dean’s name, more forcefully this time, Dean shakes his head but still doesn’t look up.

“Sorry,” he bites out. “A bit busy now.”

“Dean, what is—”

“Maybe next time,” Dean mutters, knowing there won’t be a next time. He opens the door to the car, forcing Cas to move away, and then gets inside without another look. He doesn’t look back when he drives away, but he still thinks of Cas, even when he passes out drunk on his couch that night.

♡♡♡

Dean’s an idiot.

He’s a stupid, naive, self-destructive fucking human being. He shouldn’t be allowed to go out and interact with people, ever, because apparently, even being almost thirty, he still does absolutely stupid things and still keeps trusting the wrong people. He didn’t become a celebrity yesterday — he should fucking know by now that people around him usually do things for profit. So yeah, maybe he’s a little talented, he can sing and play and he looks damn good up on stage — but that’s all he is. Sometimes he kids himself people like him _just for him_ , and not because of his good looks, money, or status. Sometimes, he still hopes there’s something good in life for him, apart from exhaustion and fake smiles and parties overflowing with alcohol. Sometimes, he thinks — maybe he deserves something more, after all.

And then, when people turn their backs on him, when they hurt him and push him away and spit on him, he still _believes_ — despite the very obvious signs that he’s wrong. He tries to convince himself that it’ll pass, that he can take it, that he’s strong enough. He pushes and pushes and pushes far too much, he pisses people off, and why? Because deep down, a part of him believes he deserves it _all_.

So when he pulls up next to the animal clinic the next day, he knows he isn’t doing it to check up on the injured hare, not really. The animal is just an excuse to get his ass near the sheriff’s department again, in hopes of stumbling upon Castiel yet again, just to get more confirmation, to sink the knife deeper into his own back.

As it turns out half an hour later, the hare is fine and getting better, and Cas is nowhere to be seen. Dean fumbles in the vicinity of the station, mostly pretending to glare at his phone and sneaking glances around the street. He wants to see Cas; he _needs_ to see him. He isn’t sure if he could even manage to talk to him — what would he even say? Thanks for screwing me over? — but the desire to lay his eyes on Cas yet again is burning right beneath his skin. It’s just a fucked up masochistic thing, he knows, because it would hurt, but he doesn’t have it in himself to deny himself that urge. Maybe it would be better once they fight. Maybe he should just scream at Cas, let him know exactly how it feels, let him yell back.

They’ve been so good at fighting from the beginning. Maybe they should have never taken it any further.

Resisting the urge to go up straight to the station and demand an explanation, Dean gets inside the Impala and drives away. He realises he’s hungry and there’s nothing in his fridge halfway across the town, so he decides to stop at Walmart to stock up. 

It’s the middle of the weekday, so the store is mostly empty, with just a few shoppers roaming around, and Dean lets himself wander, too. He’s thoughtless as he shops. He passes a shelf of peanut butter jars and puts three inside his cart, adds two pie crusts, beer, whisky, a three-pack of plain black boxers, lemon car air freshener shaped like a bear — then realises he also needs some real food and adds frozen burgers, three boxes of pizza, and noodles.

He’s just about to turn into the next aisle when there’s a loud clash and his cart bumps noisily into another.

For some reason, he knows who it is even before he lifts his head and looks.

“...Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean manages to meet his eyes without flinching. He doesn’t want to notice the way Castiel looks today (he does anyway — Cas’ eyes achingly beautiful in the fluorescent lights of the store, Cas’ jaw sharp, with a dark shadow of stubble, Cas’ lips full and parted and deliciously pink). 

“Sheriff,” Dean croaks.

Castiel opens his mouth and something cold passes his face. Dean’s heart is thumping in his chest so loud, he’s sure everyone in a mile-radius must hear it.

“Sorry,” Dean says. “I’ll move out of your way.” 

His throat is tight and his insides twist as he watches Cas’ face harden visibly. Cas doesn’t respond and he looks away and into Dean’s cart instead. Dean follows his gaze and notices the black boxers on the top of the groceries.

Dean almost laughs. What are the chances of Cas seeing him buy the most ordinary boxers now when only a few days ago, the last time they met and talked, Cas saw him in nothing but black panties.

This would make Ishim laugh, too, probably, Dean thinks bitterly.

Cas clears his throat and meets his eyes again. “That would be for the best,” he says coldly and moves away with his cart to make way for Dean to pass him.

Dean wants to respond somehow, but the words get stuck in his throat. He shoots Cas a heated look, but it’s met with an icy stare.

“Sure, whatever,” Dean mumbles angrily. His hands feel like shaking, so he grips his cart tighter and pushes past Cas. He doesn’t feel Cas’ gaze at him as he walks away, but he isn’t even surprised.

That’s what he gets for being such an idiot.

♡♡♡

When it happens, Dean is getting lunch at the Roadhouse with Benny and Ash.

Going out to eat wasn’t his idea, and he seriously doubt it was Benny or Ash’s idea, either. Someone must have put them up to this, and if he wanted to guess, his bet would be on Charlie — who probably got worried and called Sam, who in turn called Ellen, who most likely ordered the guys to take Dean out.

But maybe it will be good for him, he thinks as he stuffs himself full of one of Ellen’s burgers. Sitting alone in the cabin got old very quickly and it’s not as if he can hole himself up in there and never get out anymore, not if he wants to stay in town for at least another few weeks. And he does, despite everything that has happened. If there’s any place in the world where he can wait everything out, it’s here.

He keeps mostly quiet while Benny and Ash trade stories and jokes over their own lunches. It barely after noon and the Roadhouse is mostly empty, save for a few regulars and a family or two. Ellen sends Dean a smile from where she’s standing behind the counter when Dean meets her eyes, then goes back to polishing the empty glasses. Dean only partially listens to Ash talk, letting his thoughts wander and his memories swarm up to the surface. He spent a few nice days and nights here, at the Roadhouse, when he was still a teen. Not much has changed since that time, not really, and it soothes Dean in a way no amount of alcohol could.

Ash finishes his burger and suggests ordering pie for dessert. Dean nods eagerly and Benny guffaws, seeing his face.

“What? I like pie,” Dean says, mock-offended.

“Yeah, I remember,” Benny drawls with a grin.

“I’ll go check what kinds Elle’s got today,” Ash offers and stands up.

“Check if there’s pecan!” Dean calls after him, which only makes Benny laugh harder.

“So, Dean,” Benny says after a moment. “How’re you doin’?”

Dean turns to glare at him. “Seriously? That’s what you wanna talk about?”

Benny shrugs innocently. “What? Just asking, s’all!” 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean mutters. “I’m fine, okay? I know you probably heard I’m not, but that’s bullshit. I’m fine — or I’m gonna be, anyway.”

Benny squints at him. “Brother, you know that if you ever wanted—”

The heavy doors to the Roadhouse open and slam against the wall with the impact. A young man rushes inside and towards the counter, his movements over-excited and alarmed. Benny doesn't finish his thought and instead both of them stare at the guy, trying to hear what’s happening.

They don’t need to wait long — soon, Ash is returning to their table. He doesn’t seem to be carrying plates full of pie, instead his face is a bit flushed, eyes big.

“What happened?” Benny asks, moving so that Ash can slide back into the booth.

“Apparently, there’s been some kind of a bustle in town,” Ash says. “The kid says the police and the ambulance are on their way.”

“What?” Dean says and leans forward over the table. “The police?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, meeting his eyes and nodding seriously. His next words are like a cold knife right through Dean’s chest. “The sheriff’s been shot.”


	9. Chapter 9

Seconds pass, and Dean doesn’t move. He can hear people around him talking, but he doesn’t understand any of it, still too focused on Ash’s words.

_The sheriff’s been shot._

He has a feeling he should be doing something, but the shock is too big.

“What?” he asks, even though his throat feels like sandpaper.

Ash and Benny turn to him, both with weird looks on their faces.

“Sheriff Novak,” Ash says slowly.

“But… how?” Dean manages.

Benny stares at him. Ash clears his throat. “Uh, there’s been a fight or something. The other guy had a gun, I guess—”

“Where?” Maybe Dean should be concerned about how he can only speak in monosyllables now, but he doesn’t stop to think about it.

“Uh, not sure. But the ambulance is already on its way so I guess it’s pretty serious, though maybe only like an arm or—”

“No,” Dean interrupts. He realises he’s standing up now, with Benny, Ash, and a few other patrons looking at him. “Where, as in where did it happen? Where is he?”

“Gas station near State Street,” someone says from behind Dean. When Dean turns, he notices an older guy with a glass of beer in front of him. “At least that‘s what I’ve heard.”

“You sure?” Dean asks.

“Dean,” Benny says. “Sit down, you heard Ash, the ambulance is—”

“I don’t care,” Dean says, keeping his eyes on the older guy. When he gives a tiny, but certain nod, Dean doesn’t waste another second to explain himself, just throws a quick ‘thanks’ over his shoulder and rushes out the door. He can hear people calling after him, but there isn’t even a small part of him that is reasonable enough to listen to them.

Instead, he gets into the Impala and drives towards the gas station.

His head is a mess of thoughts. Will the ambulance be there on time? Is Cas hurt really badly? Who even dared to shoot him, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, in a fucking gas station of all things? 

Can Dean be there quickly enough so that he gets to see him?

Somehow, he does. The Impala stops in the middle of the street, her tires screeching, and Dean is out in a matter of seconds. The ambulance is already there, parked just outside the gas station, and there are people around it, standing and staring as the group of paramedics heaves up a white stretcher and carries it out to the ambulance.

“Cas,” Dean gasps and pushes through the crowd. There is someone on that stretcher, but he can’t see anything apart from black boots… a pair of brown pants… something dark and glinting spread all over the person’s thigh…

And then the paramedics move further, Dean pushes completely through the crowd, and catches sight of a pale face and a mop of dark unruly hair.

“Cas,” Dean calls weakly and rushes forward, mindless of the voices around him.

It is Cas, it’s his face and his uniform and his leg with blood all over it. His eyes are closed and he would probably look as if he were sleeping if not for the fact that his face is so, so white. Dean doesn’t think, he just walks over, reaches out a hand, and touches Cas’ cheek with the back of his fingers.

And then there are strong hands on his arms and shoulders and he’s being pushed away, brutally, a harsh ‘Sir, I need to ask you to move away’ thrown his way as if he’s just another stranger being curious about the accident and not… not—

The ambulance’s doors slam shut and the paramedics yell at each other and get inside hurriedly, and Dean just stands there, numb and shocked.

Somehow, between listening to Ash and driving here, frantic and anxious, Dean has completely forgotten that he was supposed to be mad at Cas. Mad for using him just so Dean would spill his secrets, mad for meeting with Ishim even though Dean wished he could never see him again, mad at Cas for being cold and distant when they met at Walmart, even after everything that happened between them. He thinks about it now and, for some reason, he can’t find it in himself to be mad any longer.

Or maybe he knows the reason perfectly well, but is just afraid to admit it to himself.

It doesn’t matter now, he figures. It doesn’t matter why he feels that way, especially if he could never even dream of Cas reciprocating. It doesn’t matter, because the only thing that matters is Cas being safe and healthy and alive.

Dean doesn’t care what happens between them next. He just wants to know Cas is okay.

He _needs_ to know it.

♡♡♡

Dean knows the drill.

_No, you can’t visit. Family-only. Are you related? Unfortunately, we can’t let you in._

That’s why he doesn’t go to the hospital — at least not immediately — just goes back home and frets and thinks way too much. There’s a possibility Castiel isn’t going to want to see him, but Dean is going to try anyway. He doesn’t need much, just the knowledge that everything will be fine. Dean isn’t sure how he’d handle Cas not getting through this when Dean hasn’t had the chance to at least try to explain the situation between them.

He drifts off to sleep somewhere around two in the morning, but wakes up again around six. He waits for a while, trying to eat but feeling too nervous to be able to do so without throwing up and then, at 7:05, he grabs his phone and calls the sheriff’s department.

When Alfie picks up, his voice is slow and mumbled, as if he barely slept as well.

“Sheriff’s department, deputy Jackson speaking.”

“Alfie, hi,” Dean says. He fidgets on the kitchen chair and stairs at the cup of coffee sitting in front of him. “This is Dean.”

“Hi, Dean,” Alfie says tiredly.

Dean decides there’s no point in beating around the bush. “Do you have any news about Cas?”

Alfie lets out a sigh. “He’s fine. He’s been in surgery for some time, and was asleep last time I saw him around two.”

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

“He’s gonna be fine, Dean,” Alfie says softly. “The sheriff is pretty tough, you know.”

“There was a lot of blood.”

“Yeah,” Alfie says. “Because he got hit in his thigh. But the bullet missed the main artery, went through the front of his leg. He’s gonna be good as new in a week.”

Dean lets out a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, his entire body relaxing.

“So you’ve seen him?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Alfie says. “Not sure if they’re allowing other visitors, though. I can ask, if you want.”

Last night, Dean was determined to get up early in the morning, drive up to the hospital, and try to get in, but maybe Alfie has a point. There’s probably no sense in barging in there now that he knows Cas is relatively safe. Also, he wouldn’t want to upset Cas in any way, and if it turns out Cas doesn’t want to see Dean, well…

...Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do with this, but he decides he’ll cross that bridge once he gets to it.

“When are you going to visit again?” Dean asks.

“Probably during lunch, I think. I just got into the station and there’s tons of stuff I need to take care of, and the sheriff would strangle me if I neglected my duties—”

Dean groans inwardly. Lunch is still probably like five hours away, but since he knows Cas is mostly alright and recovering now, he supposes he’s got no other choice but to wait. 

“Will you let me know if… if I could maybe…”

“Yeah,” Alfie says, and his voice sounds as if he’s smiling. “Of course, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry,” Alfie says gently. “I’m sure everything is going to be just fine.”

“Okay,” Dean says and hangs up.

He sits motionless for a few minutes, his coffee getting colder and colder with the passing time. He thinks about Alfie trying to deal with the aftermath of the shooting, probably taking care of catching the person that shot Cas. Or maybe they have already been caught? Dean realises he has no idea what _actually_ happened — but right now, he feels too drained to get really mad about it. Maybe he’ll think about it once he lays his eyes on Cas and makes sure he really is okay.

Hopefully, it’ll happen sooner than later.

♡♡♡

Around three in the afternoon, as he almost falls asleep waiting for Alfie’s call, his phone chimes loudly from where it lies on his nightstand.

Dean hurries to reach for it, almost sending the plate of uneaten sandwiches to the floor. He thumbs at the screen, impatient, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees Alfie’s text.

_Dean, the sheriff asked to see you, preferably today. Hospital is fine with you visiting!_

In his haste to get out of bed, the plate really does end up on the floor. Dean ignores it completely, pushes his phone into the pocket of his jeans, and rushes downstairs. His boots are unlaced when he gets into the car, and he needs to stop for a second and tie them properly before driving away with a screech of his tires.

He’s already parking in front of the hospital when he realises he’s missing something. Maybe he should have thought about getting Cas something? Chocolates, teddy bears, flowers? Would Cas even accept anything from him? Maybe Dean could buy a ‘get well soon’ card in the hospital, sign it quickly… But wouldn’t it look like an autograph, wouldn’t it only annoy Cas?

He looks down at himself as he rushes through the corridors. He didn’t even think about putting on something nice and is now wearing his old Led Zep tee and a purple plaid shirt over it, his jeans with holes over his knees, his boots a bit muddy… He looks as if he doesn’t care, shabby and uncouth. He hesitates as he stops in front of the front desk.

Maybe it would be better if he just turned back and walked away.

“How can I help you, sir?” asks a young receptionist, and all thoughts of running away flee Dean’s head. He straightens up and tries to smile.

“Hi. I wanted to see Cas… I mean. Sheriff Novak? He’s supposed to be somewhere around here.”

“Ah, yes. Could you sign here? Thank you. It’s room 189, this way.”

Dean waves at her. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

She says something, but he barely hears her, already striding away, hands fumbling at his sides. It would really help if he had something in them, like flowers or a card. Maybe, if Cas even wants him to visit again the next day, Dean could think about it earlier…

Suddenly, he stops right in front of the door 189 and falters. The need to run away is huge, but the desire to finally see Cas and check whether he really is alright is much bigger. Hands sweaty and heart thumping in his chest, Dean pushes the door open and walks inside.

The room is white, with only one bed pushed up against the wall by the window. Dean can feel his throat jumping up to his throat when he notices a lonely figure laying on the bed, under the heap of white covers and surrounded by loudly beeping machines.

Cas’ head is facing away from Dean, his dark hair a stark sight against the pale pillow. Dean doesn’t really see anything that could be wrong with him, he looks as if he’s just sleeping — and Dean smiles, for the first time in the last couple of hours.

Cas is okay.

Dean shuffles closer, uncertain and quiet, but Cas doesn’t stir. He’s not sure how to proceed — maybe he could come back later, when Cas is awake so that they can talk. But now, seeing Cas all in one piece, Dean doesn’t want to go. He lets his eyes sweep up and down Cas’ figure, hidden beneath the covers, making sure all is in place. Quietly, he makes his way to the other side of the bed, so that he can see his face, and then his boot squeaks against the floor.

Cas’ head moves towards the sounds, eyes wide open in his weirdly pale face. Dean freezes, but doesn’t look away.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean expected him to sound all raspy and low and sleepy, but his voice is clear and strong. Dean can feel the last of his worry ebb away.

He smiles awkwardly.

“Hey, Cas.”

“You came,” Cas says slowly, and sounds almost amazed.

“Of course,” Dean says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live,” Cas says, a smile playing on his lips. Dean wishes he could walk over, bend down, and kiss him. He can feel his fingertips tingle at the sight of that smile.

“You scared me,” Dean rasps. Cas smiles again, softer this time, and Dean clears his throat, a bit embarrassed. “You scared all of us.”

“Yes, Alfie has already told me off,” Cas hums.

“He did what?” Dean asks. Thoughtlessly, he takes a step towards the bed. “Alfie?”

“He’s tougher than he looks,” Cas says, eyes twinkling. “He told me he’s too young to become the sheriff, and that I should think of him more often, and not only about myself.”

“That’s—” Dean wants to be offended, but he can see Cas is more amused than upset, and Dean just shakes his head. “Do you want me to deal with him? I’m bigger than him,” he jokes

“No, Dean,” Cas says gently.

Fuck, but the way he says Dean’s name is doing all kinds of things to Dean’s heart right now. He stumbles closer to the bed, but stops before really reaching it, asking permission with his eyes only.

Cas keeps looking at him, and then he holds out his hand, slowly.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas whispers, and he’s not smiling anymore.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean mutters. He slides closer and takes Cas’ hand, gently, afraid Cas might back off any minute. “You didn’t shoot yourself.”

Cas blinks. “I meant about everything that happened before. What happened between us.”

Dean’s fingers stiffen in Cas’ grip. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you off.” Cas’ eyes are gentle, sad. “I never meant to do that. I hope you know it.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks. He struggles to free his hand, and Cas lets him go easily. “Scare me off how?”

“With… everything we did,” Cas whispers. He looks away. “I understand if it was too much for you and you never want to see me again. And I’m very grateful you still came to see me one last—”

“Wait, what.”

Dean sits down on the bed beside Cas, slow and careful, but without taking his eyes off Castiel’s face. He’s not really sure what’s happening now, but he has a feeling something’s not right.

“Cas, you didn’t scare me off. Not in the way you think,” Dean says.

“In what way, then?” Cas asks, frowning.

“Do you really need to ask?” Dean mutters and he can hear he sounds bitter.

Cas’ frown only deepens.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Ishim,” Dean says.

“Ishim,” Cas repeats blankly. “Ishim Jacobs? What about him?”

Dean stands up, too impatient to sit any longer. He doesn’t look at Cas as he starts pacing.

“You tell me, Cas. What was he doing here? Talking with you, of all people?”

“He was here, looking for a place to shoot his new movie,” Cas says slowly. He sounds surprised. “He’s a famous director, you should have heard of him—”

“No, he’s not,” Dean interrupts. “He’s a manager.”

“What?” Cas’ eyes are wide when Dean chances a glance at him. “But he said he was looking for a new location. He gave up, after all, but he—”

“No, of course he did. Because he was only here so that you could tell him everything about me, wasn’t he? You knew perfectly well who he was and you took advantage of it.” Dean manages not to sound too upset or sad when he says it, somehow. But he also can’t look Cas in the eye, even when he feels Cas’ intense gaze.

“I just told you I _thought_ he was a director,” Cas says. “He _claimed_ he was a director.”

“Okay,” Dean mutters, and waves a hand. “Whatever. But you did tell him stuff, didn’t you?”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice is harsh now, even if still mostly surprised. “What are you talking about?”

Dean turns to him. “Shit, Cas, don’t try to deny it now, okay? I know what happened. I’ve had time to— to try to deal with it. Just tell me, okay?”

“Tell you what?” Cas snaps and tries to sit up.

“Don’t—” Dean rushes forward, hands outstretched. “Fuck, don’t move.”

“Dean,” Cas almost growls, eyes dark and stormy, but he stops moving.

Dean still hovers over him for a while. “You’re not supposed to move, dammit!”

“Dean,” Cas repeats again. “I don’t understand a thing you’re talking about. What do you mean, I _told Ishim stuff_?”

“Well, you tell me!” Dean says, throwing his hands in the air. “All I know is that I tell you about everything that happened with me and… and you-know-who, then you suddenly disappear to go to Houston, and the next thing I know, Ishim is here, talking with you! What did you talk about, huh?”

Cas’ face is flushed where he lies in bed, staring up at Dean with angry eyes. He doesn’t try to move again, though. “I told you. He claimed to be a movie director and was looking for—”

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit. Don’t tell me you believed him.”

“I _did_ ,” Cas growls. “I had no reason not to.”

“You could google him and see that he’s Michael’s manager! The same one that threatened me back in Austin! I told you about him!” Dean whispers angrily.

“I don’t usually just _google people_ I meet, Dean,” Cas says. “Ho told me he was a director and I believed him. End of story.”

Dean stares down at his face. “And what, he just drove away? Just like that?”

“Yes, Dean. Just like that. He didn’t find what he was looking for, apparently, and was gone the next day.”

A horrible feeling settles in Dean’s stomach, a nasty kind of realisation that he doesn’t want to think about. He stares at Cas for a while, trying to gather his thoughts into something more coherent, but he’s distracted by the honest heat in Cas’ eyes.

“You must have told him something. He… he must have asked about me,” he finally manages.

Castiel frowns. “He did. He mentioned hearing about your hometown, but it wasn’t my place to discuss your whereabouts, Dean.”

Dean’s throat is dry. “So what did you tell him?” He must have told him something, Dean thinks frantically. He must have.

“I told him he would need to contact your manager if he wanted to get in touch with you,” Cas says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it is.

“Bullshit,” Dean says, but it’s weak. “That’s—”

The door to the room opens and a nurse pokes her head in, glancing from Cas to Dean to Cas again.

“Is everything okay here? I’ve heard loud voices,” she says.

“It’s fine,” Cas says, voice clipped. “Thank you.”

The nurse sends one last suspicious look Dean’s way, but then she disappears again, the door closing with a quiet click. Dean keeps staring at it, though, suddenly unable to look back at Cas, his heart beating hysterically in his chest.

“Dean,” Cas says, and he sounds dangerous. He sounds as if he’s about to stand up and walk over to Dean, angry and offended, just like he did when Dean refused to get inside the cell that one night or when Cas tried to persuade him to get inside his car. 

Dean risks one glance at him, catches Cas’ threatening eyes, and quickly looks away.

“Dean, did you think Ishim _bribed_ me?” Cas asks

“I don’t— I don’t know anymore,” Dean mutters.

“But _did you_? Is that why you ignored me?”

“I’m… Look, Cas, it was weird, okay? I saw you and Ishim right after you came back from Texas, and you didn’t contact me either, and—”

“And you didn’t think to just _ask_?” Cas is sitting up again, a wince passing over his face, and Dean rushes to his side, eyes downcast but hands outstretched and ready to help. Cas doesn’t push him away, at least, so Dean carefully arranges the pillows behind Cas’ back.

“It seemed obvious to me,” he mumbles.

He feels stupid, cheeks burning with shame, and he tries to keep busy, hands patting the pillows and the covers over Cas. 

“Did you really think I was lying the whole time we were together?” Cas asks. “If you really have such a low opinion about me, Dean, I’m… I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”

Dean doesn’t, either, but Cas is starting to sound more hurt than angry, and Dean is not having any of that.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says frantically. “It wasn’t about you.”

“Yes, it was,” Cas snaps. “I have told you, many times, that I wasn’t just fooling around. It wasn’t a game for me. Was it a game for you?”

“Of course not,” Dean huffs.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Cas…”

“Will you look at me?” Cas asks, impatient. “Dean, look at me.”

Cas’ hand closes over Dean’s arm and he keeps him close, eyes burning holes in the side of Dean’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Dean bursts. “I’m sorry I’m such a fuckup, Cas. I don’t know what to say, okay? I screwed up. I was an idiot, I know, but, Cas—”

“Dean, no,” Cas interrupts. His hand moves up Dean’s arm to rest on his shoulder, fingers tight and certain. “You’re not an idiot. It was stupid, yes, but what Ishim and Michael are doing to you isn’t fair, and I can’t even imagine how it must feel. I just wished you talked to me before assuming the worst.”

“I know.”

“You thought I used you just to get information out of you and share it with Ishim. For money,” Cas says quietly, and now, when Dean hears it, it sounds like the most ridiculous idea ever. He can feel his entire face heat up.

“Cas, I’m—”

“Sorry. I know. I’m sorry, too,” Cas says, gently.

Dean’s head jerks up. “What? What are _you_ apologising for?”

“I knew what you’ve been through and I should have been clearer about my intentions towards you.” Cas’ eyes are clear and blue and soft, and his hand is strong where it grips Dean’s shoulder. Dean finds he can’t look away from his face, now that he’s finally brave enough to do so. 

“Your… intentions?” Dean croaks.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you in the past, Dean,” Cas says slowly, “but none of it matters to me now. I care about _you_ , Dean, the present you, and I want you exactly the way you are, even if you’re stubborn and infuriating and self-deprecating.”

“You… _want me_?” Dean repeats.

Cas nods. “Yes, of course.”

“In, like… a sexual way, right?” Dean asks. He tries to smirk, but feels too raw inside to do so. What comes out must look like a grimace.

Cas doesn’t seem to care. “Yes,” he says, and for a second, Dean’s heart sinks, but then Cas adds, “But not only.”

Dean blinks. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“ _Okay_?” Cas arches a brow at him. “Dean, do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“I… think so, yeah,” Dean says slowly.

Cas shakes his head with a long-suffering sigh, and then he looks back at Dean, face determined. Dean can feel a tingle run down his spine at the sight.

“I care about you, Dean,” Cas says, just like that, as if he isn’t pushing through all of Dean’s armour, crumbling every last piece of his resolve with his words. “I don’t care about your fame or your money or your hot tub, I don’t care about the number of fans you have nor about the amount of albums you’ve sold. I don’t care if you’re out to the public or not, if you feel comfortable about revealing it or maybe not yet. I care about you, your body as well as your mind, and I want it, all of it, with me, every minute of the day. Do you understand me, Dean?”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“I desire you,” Cas says, and his eyes drop to Dean’s lips, to the expanse of his throat, and his fingers tighten on Dean’s shoulder. Dean sways on the spot, held up only by Cas’ hot gaze. “I feel lightheaded when I’m near you, the need to touch you and be touched by you almost too overwhelming, and only getting stronger every day.”

Dean whimpers. “ _Cas_.”

Cas’ gaze snaps back up to Dean’s eyes. “But it’s not just that. I miss you when you’re away, Dean. I want to spend more time with you. I want to talk with you, get to know you better, learn new things about you every day.”

“Cas. You can’t just—” Dean manages. His knees feel weak and he plops down onto the bed again, right by Cas’ side. Cas’ hand moves up and his fingers brush against Dean’s jaw and his cheek.

“I know it’s a lot,” Cas murmurs. “But I don’t do things half-way, Dean, I never have. I can’t stand the thought of having your body and not having the rest of you. I _want_ you, Dean, the entire you, today, and tomorrow, and for the nearest future. I can’t say exactly for how long, and I know you probably can’t, either. You’re a celebrity and I’m a small-town sheriff. Our schedules don’t exactly line up.”

It pulls a quiet laugh out of Dean and he closes his eyes, engulfed with the feeling of Cas’ hand on him and Cas’ words hitting so close. 

“Was that too much?” Cas asks, a hint of humour in his quiet voice.

Dean chuckles again. “A bit, yeah,” he murmurs, and then he’s leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Castiel’s, eyes still closed, Cas’ fingers still caressing his cheek. 

“Did I… scare you off again?” Cas asks uncertainly.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Dean huffs out with a smile. “No, Cas, you didn’t. I’m just… processing.”

“Take your time,” Cas hums and gently cards his fingers through the short hair at the base of Dean’s neck.

Dean nearly melts into him. “How is it that _you’re_ comforting _me_ now? You’re the one in the hospital bed, with a freaking gunshot wound in your leg.”

“I’m going to be fine,” Cas murmurs. “It’s not my first time.”

“Oh?” Dean finally opens his eyes and meets Cas’ blue ones, already staring back at him. “You get shot regularly?”

“I’m a sheriff,” Cas says with a raised brow. “It happens.”

“Do you have scars?” Dean jokes.

“A few,” Cas admits. “I could show you someday. I you want.”

Dean sighs and lets his eyes slide closed again. “Of course I fucking want, Cas. Why do you think I reacted so badly when I thought you… and Ishim… you know? I care about you too, dammit. Way too much.”

Cas rubs a gentle hand through Dean’s hair, keeping him close and not saying anything.

“I know I’m fucked up, but it’s stronger than me. You just… you just appeared in my life and completely took control, and I didn’t even really have a say, you know?”

“You did have a say, Dean—”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Dean says hurriedly. “Of course I did have a say, I mean, I did agree to everything that happened. I chose it. What I mean is just… it took me a bit by surprise. _You_ took me a bit by surprise.”

Cas moves so that they’re not touching foreheads anymore, and instead he presses a soft kiss to the side of Dean’s head, his hands gentle on his jaw. 

Dean takes a deep breath. “I mean. The sex wasn’t really that surprising. You’re fucking hot.” Cas huffs out a laugh against Dean’s skin, and Dean grins. “But you said it: it’s more than just sex. I never let anyone do to me what you have before. In bed, I mean. And... Somehow, I still feel it’s not enough. I want more, and I want it with you and with no one else. I’m stupid and I have trust issues but I want to trust you, I _do trust you_ , even though sometimes it’s hard to understand how you can even want to—”

“Don’t,” Cas murmurs and presses a lingering kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean clears his throat. “No self-hatred. I get it.”

“You’re a star, Dean. People love you,” Cas says. “You should, too.”

There is another confession there, hidden between Cas’ quiet words. Dean feels it on his own tongue, too, and it burns and it wants to be spoken aloud, but it also feels too fresh and vulnerable. Dean doesn’t say anything, he just looks up into Cas’ eyes and smiles, and his heart flutters when he sees Cas smiling back.

“What I’m trying and failing to say here, Cas,” Dean mutters, never breaking eye contact with him, “is that I want you, too. And not just for sex.”

“Good,” Cas says, and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he grins.

“Good,” Dean repeats. “And I don’t plan to leave here for the next few weeks or even months, so I guess I can also say I want you for the nearest future.”

Cas doesn’t answer, just leans in and kisses Dean full on the lips. It’s sweet but on the verge of passionate, close-mouthed but lingering, Cas’ fingers tightening in Dean’s hair and pulling him closer. They pull away after a while, both panting and grinning, and almost immediately, Dean surges in and kisses him again.

Cas lets out a low sigh and gently pries Dean’s mouth open with his tongue, deepening the kiss and making Dean’s head dizzy with delight. Dean’s hands move on their own accord and soon he’s gripping Cas’ hips through the covers and trying to slide him closer.

Cas hisses and pulls away abruptly.

“Fuck,” Dean pants. He backs away immediately. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Cas says, but he’s grimacing.

“I did,” Dean says. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Cas says and shakes his head. “I just got a bit carried away.”

“I think we should stop kissing now,” Dean decides.

Cas sends him a devastated look and Dean can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“We can continue,” Cas pouts, “I’ll just be more careful.”

“No, Cas,” Dean says, chuckling. “What you’re gonna do now is get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Cas grunts. “It’s not the first time I—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re tough. You’re a strong, tough, and handsome sheriff.”

Cas narrows his eyes at him. “Do not mock me, Dean.”

Dean smirks. “You like me anyway.”

Cas’ gaze never falters. “I do.”

“Well, good.” Dean stands up. He can feel himself blushing again, but tries to hide it as he busies himself with arranging the covers around Cas again. “You go to sleep now, and I’m gonna come back tomorrow again, if you want.”

“Yes,” Cas says. “And you will kiss me more tomorrow.”

Dean laughs. “If you want. Of course.”

“The doctor told me I can leave the hospital in three days,” Cas says. “I expect to see you then.”

“Okay,” Dean hums. He smooths out Cas’ covers, tucks them around his body carefully. “I can take you to dinner, if you want.”

Cas stays quiet for a moment, and Dean thinks maybe he said something wrong. But when he looks up at Cas, he has a soft look in his eyes and he’s smiling.

“I can’t wait,” he says quietly, catches Dean’s hand, and gently pulls him closer again. 

Dean kisses him softly, one hand splayed over Cas’ cheek, the other propped up on the bed. Cas hums against his lips, pleased, and when Dean pulls away, he’s beaming.

“It’s a date, then,” Dean says with a wink.

Cas rolls his eyes, grabs his fingers, and tilts his head up for yet another kiss.

Dean finds him impossible to refuse.


	10. Chapter 10

True to the doctor’s words, Cas is released from the hospital three days later. Dean helps him pack the things he has managed to collect around himself in that short amount of time — mostly stuff Dean brought him, including books, food, and a bunch of flowers. Cas insists on taking the flowers even though they don’t really look fresh anymore, and Dean blushes when he sees the way Cas clutches the dying forget-me-nots.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Dean mutters.

Cas squints. “I would love that, thank you, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What I meant is, you can throw those away now.”

Cas looks offended and holds the bunch closer to his chest. “They’re not dead, yet. I’m not throwing them away.”

“Whatever,” Dean grunts, but then Cas sidles up to him and takes his hand with the one not gripping the bouquet, and Dean can’t help but smile.

“Are we ready?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He smiles. “Let’s take you home, sheriff.”

♡♡♡

Dean has never been to Cas’ house before, and he’s only a little surprised by how much he likes it. It turns out Castiel has a pretty great taste in houses and decor because Dean can’t help but admire it from the second they get out of the Impala.

It’s reasonably small and lovely, looking a little bit like a modern type of cottage in the middle of town. Covered in white panels, with dark doors and black window shutters, it’s surrounded by plants and a white fence. Dean sends Cas an approving smile as they climb up the stairs onto the wide porch and towards the main doors. 

“Cosy,” Dean says, looking around. “Looks really nice.”

“It used to belong to my grandma,” Cas says as he slides the key into the doors. “She left it to me when she passed away.”

Dean hums, not sure whether it’s something Cas feels sad about or not. They still have so many things they need to learn about each other, Dean realises. He hopes they'll have lots of time to do so.

Dean follows Castiel inside, the bag with Cas’ things swung over Dean’s shoulder. He deposits it on the floor of the living area while Cas heads towards the open kitchen, the flowers still in his hands. He’s still limping a bit and Dean watches him go for a moment, concern tugging gently at his heart.

“Do you want something to drink?” Cas calls, pulling Dean out of his reverie.

“Uh, sure,” Dean says. He looks around the living room, smiling at all the pots full of flowers placed all over it. Maybe that’s why Cas likes the forget-me-nots so much. “Just water.”

“I have beer,” Cas says, appearing back in the room. He’s holding a glass of water with the blue flowers tucked carefully into it. “And wine. Whisky too, probably.”

“Water’s fine,” Dean says with a smile.

Cas places the glass in the middle of the coffee table and looks up at Dean. “You don’t have to go as soon as you drink it, Dean,” he says. Then he bites his lips. “Unless you’re in a hurry…?”

“I’m not,” Dean says.

“Okay.” Cas nods and sends him a smile. “You can stay for coffee, then.”

Dean hums and follows Cas back to the kitchen. It’s small and cosy, mostly in whites and browns. Cas reaches out for coffee cups and puts them down on the wooden counter.

A weird idea comes to Dean’s mind. “Hey, do you have any nice tea?”

Cas throws him a look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “Tea?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, only a little self-conscious. “I’ve never really drunk tea, or at least not any good tea. Maybe, if you have any, we could—”

“I do,” Cas responds, opens one of the cupboards, and spends a long moment looking through its content and humming to himself. 

“Have I told you I actually bought tea recently? Just some cheap stuff in bags from Walmart because I know nothing about it, but still.”

“Was it good?” Cas asks with a wide smile.

Dean winces. “Don’t know. Never even opened it. Maybe you can come by and we’ll see then.”

Cas nods and keeps smiling as he measures out tea leaves and prepares water. 

“Hey, what do you say we make something to eat?” Dean asks and walks towards the fridge. Cas looks at him but doesn’t try to stop him, so Dean gathers he’s allowed to open it and look inside. What greets him is a tiny, dry piece of cheese and a very old tomato. “Dude. What is that?”

Cas shuffles closer and peers inside over Dean’s shoulder. “Oh. Right. I haven’t really bought any groceries since before I left for Houston.”

“Okay,” Dean says and closes the fridge. He wants to move away, but then feels Cas prop his chin on Dean’s shoulder from behind and he stops moving.

“We can order something,” Cas says quietly. “Stay in tonight, watch a movie.”

Dean swallows, feeling Cas’ warm breath against his neck. “Sounds awesome,” he manages.

“I know you promised me dinner,” Cas hums. “But maybe…”

“We can go out some other time,” Dean says quickly. “Once your leg feels better.”

“Exactly,” Cas murmurs. “And tomorrow we can go for groceries and then come back here to make dinner. I’d love it if you cooked for us, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, reaches back, and finds Castiel’s hand. He lets their fingers twine together and pulls it so that they’re resting over Dean’s stomach. Cas shuffles closer and presses a feather-light kiss to Dean’s neck. “I can do that.”

It’s pretty cool, he thinks when Cas grabs him by the hips, turns him around, and kisses him on the lips, that Cas has three more days off work. He hopes they can make the most of them.

♡♡♡

Dean is warm on the couch in Cas’ living room, a half-empty glass of wine in his one hand and his other busy playing with Cas’ hair. Cas has his head on Dean’s shoulder and he’s breathing slowly against his skin, eyes glued to the screen of the TV. There are empty take-out boxes on the coffee table in front of them and the light is low, coming from the small lamp on one of the cabinets.

Cas yawns and burrows closer against Dean’s side. 

“You tired?” Dean murmurs, his arm tightening around Cas’ waist.

Cas shakes his head gently. “Just comfortable. Don’t move.”

“Mhmm, okay,” Dean hums, but moves anyway, bowing his head to plant a sweet kiss on Cas’ cheek. “You’re gonna tell me when you wanna go to sleep, yeah?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, catches Dean’s head, and pulls it closer again to kiss him on the lips. Dean revels in the feeling of Cas pressed closed to him and lets himself be kissed for a while. He pulls away with a laugh when he barely manages to stop the wine glass in his hand from tipping over.

Cas huffs, but settles back against him and continues watching whatever is on TV. Dean doesn’t even know what it is — some documentary about bears, he think, too distracted with the way Cas is warm and soft and perfect all snuggled into his side.

He’s not sure whether it’s the wine that’s making him all sappy, or the last few days spent being miserable and then worrying about Cas, or maybe just Cas’ proximity — but he thinks he has never felt better in his entire life. He lets out a pleased sigh and drops a small kiss on the top of Cas’ head, and then stays like that, nose buried in Cas’ hair, eyes closed, a smile on his lips.

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding a bit muffled from where he presses half of his face against Dean’s chest. “Are you smelling me?”

Dean just laughs and cuddles him closer. 

“Okay,” Cas murmurs contentedly.

It’s so easy, Dean thinks, to just sit there and hold Cas for hours. It’s easy to eat dinner with him, to talk, to lean over and kiss him while he has a mouth full of Chinese food. It feels as if Dean has been denying himself something great, something comfortable and perfect for all those years, and now when he finally admitted he needs it, he just can’t let go. It was never like that with Michael — it was just sex, quick and dirty, and they never stayed together like this, just to be close, without even thinking of sex. It was never like that with any of Dean’s old girlfriends, at least not with the most recent ones. It usually felt fake or not enough, Dean never feeling satisfied, never content enough to just sit like that and let himself completely relax.

Dean has no idea what awaits them in the future — after all, their lives differ in so many aspects, from Dean travelling all around the globe to him being constantly in public. He has no idea what Cas thinks about being famous for dating a celebrity, if he even wants to admit it in front of everyone. Dean knows, though, that there’s no pretending with him anymore. He’s not going to simply go out and say ‘hi, surprise everyone, I’m gay now’ — they all seem to know that by now. But he’s also definitely not going to hide this part of him, he’s not going to make Cas his dirty little secret. He’s also not even going to think about Michael anymore. If Michael doesn’t want to be out, it’s his life; Dean is just going to try to avoid him for now and hope that Ishim simply lets it go soon.

Suddenly, Cas’ voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks and focuses on Cas’ face right in front of him.

“Dean,” Cas hums. “What are you thinking about?”

Dean lets out a short laugh. “Are we gonna be that couple? ‘Tell me what you’re thinking, honey’?”

Cas smiles at him and presses closer, enough to place a lingering kiss on Dean’s jaw. “So we’re a couple?”

Dean’s heart flutters. “What, you think we aren’t?”

Cas laughs against his skin, a low, lovely sound that makes something hot and pleasant twist Dean’s insides. 

“I think we’ve been a couple for some time now,” he hums, trailing kisses down the column of Dean’s throat. “Just never talked about it.”

“Yeah,” Dean gasps. Cas’ mouth is hot and wet where it sucks at Dean’s collarbone, sinful enough to make all the blood rush down to Dean’s cock. “We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

“I prefer the word wary,” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear. “Less dumb.” He gently nips at Dean’s earlobe, then soothes it over with his tongue. “Less ass.” His mouth presses wetly into the spot right behind Dean’s ear and Dean gasps, hands reaching up to grab Cas by the hips and carefully pull him closer.

“Cas,” Dean sighs, hands roaming over Cas’ sides and chest, up to cradle his face and pull him in so that they can kiss on the lips. 

Cas hums and eagerly licks into his mouth, and in a matter of seconds he climbs over and seats himself in Dean’s lap.

“Hey, hey,” Dean protests softly. “Be careful with that leg.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas murmurs and leans to kiss him again.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Dean says. 

“I’m gonna be fine,” Cas promises. “We’re just kissing.”

Kissing turns into gasping against each other’s mouths and grinding soon enough, and Dean’s conscious enough to notice the smallest of winces on Cas’ face when he thrusts shallowly against Dean’s crotch, both thighs spread over Dean.

“Cas, Cas,” Dean mutters. “Stop.”

Cas whimpers against his neck. “Dean. Please.”

Dean reaches down and touches Cas through his sweatpants, Cas’ cock already straining the soft material. Cas gasps and thrusts up into his hand.

Dean moves his hand back. “Hey. No. Not like that, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Cas growls deep in his throat. “I’ll live.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

Cas latches onto his lips. “I’m hurting now,” he murmurs and moves his hips, slow and sensuous, rubbing himself right against Dean’s erection. Dean hides a moan in Cas’ chest.

“There needs to be another way,” he manages, then catches Cas by his hips and forces him away. Cas hisses and one of his hands presses against his injured thigh. When Dean sends him a meaningful look, Cas lets out a grumpy sigh. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters, but lets Dean maneuver him back onto the couch, careful with his leg.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers and leans in to kiss Cas’ pout away.

“At least let me give you pleasure,” Cas says, his voice low, and fuck, how is Dean supposed to be in control here? “Let me touch you, Dean.”

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. “Okay. We can think of something, but we’re gonna go to bed and get you to lie down.”

“Then how am I supposed to—”

“Shhh.” Dean silences him with a quick kiss. “I’ve got an idea.”

They pull away just so that they can get up from the couch, and then Cas grips Dean’s hand and pulls him towards the stairs. They climb quickly, Dean watching Cas limp and trying not to look like he’s thinking too hard.

He is, though.

He thinks he knows the way they can do this and both get the satisfaction they crave so much. He also thinks it actually may be a good moment for it — Cas is hurt and he shouldn’t engage anything too strenuous, and Dean would probably need for it to be as slow and careful as possible, too…

They get inside Cas’ bedroom and Dean doesn't even have time to look around because he's being pulled towards the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. They fall into it, careful enough so that Cas doesn’t hurt himself, Dean right by his side, cradling his face and kissing him deeply. He forgets himself in the kisses, too, trying to relax as much as he can with the thoughts of what he’s about to propose swirling around in his head.

Cas gets the upper hand in kissing him soon enough and he pushes Dean into the mattress and kisses against his neck and jaw and ear, his hand wandering lower and lower until it reaches Dean’s tented jeans. It takes him just a moment to unbuckle and unbutton and unzip, and then his fingers slip inside and stroke Dean through his underwear. Dean swears and arches into his hand, eyes closed and lips parted on a moan.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas hums against Dean’s cheek. “Those are lovely.”

Cas’ fingers play with the hem of his panties — dark red and lacy, already wet with precome — and then push inside to palm Dean’s cock fully. 

“Are they comfortable?” Cas murmurs into Dean’s ear, hand slipping up and down Dean’s leaking erection, thumbing at the slit, loose enough that it makes Dean half-crazy with want. “Do they feel good?”

“Y-yes,” Dean gasps. “Yes, they do.”

“Good,” Cas croons. “They look amazing on you, Dean. You look amazing.”

“Ahhh. Cas. Fuck, Cas,” Dean moans, feeling Cas’ hand slip lower and tease Dean’s balls. He fidgets on the bed, desperate for more. “Cas. Cas, please.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas whispers, hands going back to jerking him off lazily. “Anything you want.”

“I want,” Dean tries, then moans again when Cas twists his wrist in the perfect way. “I want you to touch me.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas murmurs.

“Cas,” Dean pants. “I want you to fuck me.”

Cas lets out a groan and his hips move against Dean’s hip. His fingers slip on Dean’s wet cock, then tighten, making Dean buckle up.

“Dean,” Cas gasps. 

“Open me up, Cas,” Dean whispers, and it makes him harder to even say these words aloud. He moans and Cas grinds against him again, lazy and small and very careful. “I’ve— I’ve never done it before, Cas, but I want you. So much.”

“Dean.” Cas presses a wet kiss into Dean’s neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yeah, Cas, absolutely.”

“But… How—”

“I can ride you,” Dean whispers, and turns his head so that he can see Cas’ face, his dark eyes, kiss-bitten lips. “If you… let me.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas growls, somehow managing to make it sound like the most obscene curse.

It takes a few moments of fidgeting around to finally remove all their clothes. Cas’ cock is dark and hard and leaking where it curves against his flat stomach, and Dean touches it with his fingers. It looks big, but not frighteningly so, and he feels a new wave of arousal at the mere thought of getting to feel it inside him. There’s a white bandage on Cas’ thigh and Dean spends a few short seconds inspecting it, but then Cas pushes him gently away and flat onto the mattress. Then he’s back to kissing him, hands moving lazily over Dean’s body.

“Relax,” Cas says soothingly, most of the previous heat forgotten for now. “Let me take care of you.”

Dean closes his eyes and just gives himself up to Cas’ wonderful ministrations. Cas kisses him thoroughly, keeping the pace slow enough so that Dean’s hard but not desperate enough to hump the air or make Cas hurry up. Then, Cas trails his kisses down Dean’s neck, his chest, kissing his hips and the insides of his thighs.

Dean squirms when he feels Cas’ warm breath over his cock. 

“I’m going to touch you now with my finger while I put you in my mouth,” Cas whispers, and it sounds like the filthiest thing Dean has ever heard.

“Yeah,” Dean gasps. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks again, and Dean hears a soft click and then something wet rubbing against flesh. He looks up and watches for a while as Cas warms lube between his hands. “It can be unpleasant at first, so you’re going to need to try to relax.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean breathes out.

Cas nods, lowers himself down, and takes Dean’s cock into his mouth. This is something Dean is used to by now, so he lets out a loud moan and arches into it, head falling back to the mattress. Cas feels amazing around him, and soon Dean forgets about everything else, his body hot and wanting.

But then, he feels something wet and a little cold touch against his hole, and he lets out a gasp.

Cas pulls off with his mouth, but the pressure against his rim doesn’t disappear.

“Are you okay?” he asks quickly.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. “Do it.”

Cas smoothes a hand down Dean’s side. “Relax, Dean. You’re all tense. Just let it go.”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to follow Cas’ advice, but he can feel himself tense as soon as Cas’ fingertip breaches his rim. 

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts. “Uh.”

“Shh.” Cas kisses him gently on the hip, then moves towards his cock. His finger isn’t moving yet, but it’s still there and it feels weird. Dean waits until Cas swallows him down again, and then experimentally moves his hips, gently enough so that Cas’ finger barely rubs against him.

“Oh, God, this is so weird,” he gasps.

Cas hums, and it sends vibrations through Dean’s cock. He moans, lips falling open, and Cas starts going to town on him. 

His finger is still barely moving, or maybe Dean is just too focused on the way it feels to have Cas’ wet, hot mouth around himself. A moment later, somehow, he realises Cas has more of his finger inside Dean and is moving it very gently, massaging the tense muscles around it. Dean writhes and moans as Cas sucks him off and fucks him with one finger, and he can’t even help that he comes not long after that, spilling hot inside Cas’ mouth and moving against Cas’ finger.

“Yes,” Cas whispers when he swallows most of it and presses a kiss into Dean’s hip and up towards his lips. He tastes like Dean’s come and Dean moans against him, pliant against the mattress. “Very good, Dean. That’s perfect.”

“M’sorry,” Dean mumbles lazily. He didn’t intend to come so quickly.

“That’s perfectly okay,” Cas murmurs as he kisses him. 

Dean realises he’s now pumping his finger in and out of Dean’s hole, and that the second one is starting to press against him, too. Dean moans and moves his hips to meet him, to take him inside deeper, hot flashes of pleasure being sent through his entire body even though he’s completely spent from Cas’ perfect mouth.

“Fuck, Cas,” he gasps. “Yeah. Like that.”

“Does it feel good?” Cas asks quietly, and adds the second finger.

“Fuuuuuck yeah,” Dean crows. “Yes, Cas.”

“You’re so good,” Cas praises, kissing his shoulder lazily. “So perfect for me.”

“More, Cas,” Dean gasps. “I need more now.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I know.” Cas keeps opening him up slowly with just two fingers for a few more minutes, and only adds a third when Dean moans again, loud enough that the neighbours must hear him.

It feels amazing, with barely any pain left, and when Cas scissors his fingers inside Dean, he arches up, Cas almost slipping out of him. Dean wriggles and takes him inside again, all three fingers, wide enough that Dean feels lightheaded with pleasure. 

“Cas,” he moans wretchedly. “Please. Please, Cas.”

“Yeah,” Cas murmurs, and then he’s pulling out, leaving Dean cold and empty. Dean looks up and see Cas flexing his hand, a look of concentration on his flushed face.

He notices Dean looking and smiles. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs and moves to kiss him gently. “Cramps.

Dean has had enough, though — he pushes against Cas, presses him down with his back to the mattress, and leans over him.

“My turn,” he whispers and reaches for the condom lying on the other side of Cas.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean breathes heavily as he pulls out the condom and quickly rolls it over Cas’ entire length. Cas moans and fucks into his hand, his cock hard and neglected for so long. “I’m very sure.”

He moves and straddles Cas, careful of his thigh, bracing himself on the mattress on both sides of Cas’ head. He looks down into Cas’s eyes and smiles.

“Careful, Dean, maybe you should—” Cas starts, but then his mouth falls open and he lets out a moan as Dean lowers himself down onto Cas.

Dean gasps as well, the feeling of being stretched so wide it’s almost unbearable taking his breath away for a long moment. He barely dares to move, pain and pleasure mixing up in his body, breathing heavily through his mouth and trying to force his body to relax. Beneath him, Cas is staring up with his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Dean moves a hand and touches Cas’ face, gently, brushing his finger down Cas’ cheek.

He takes one more deep breath, then lets it all go. 

“Can I move?” he whispers, looking straight into Cas’ eyes.

Cas only nods.

Dean moves very slowly at first, just the tiniest jerks of his hips, rolling them to the sides, trying out different directions, making small figure-eight movements. He’s panting hard, short, laborious breaths falling from his mouth as he slowly fucks himself onto Cas’ cock, takes him even deeper, letting him fill him up completely. Cas isn’t saying anything, just staring up at him with an open mouth.

Dean rolls his hips the full circle and moans shamelessly. 

“Fuck, Cas. You’re perfect,” he pants. “Perfect. Ah, fuck. Fuck, yes.”

Cas reaches out soundlessly, and Dean meets his hands halfway, their fingers twining together. Dean keeps rolling his hips in perfect little circles, and then he leans down to press their joined hands into the mattress and kiss Cas full on the lips.

The new angle makes him moan loudly again, and he moves his hips up and down, up and down, Cas’ cock filling him up in the best way possible. He realises he’s hard again when his own dick bumps against Cas’ stomach and smears it with precome.

Cas tries to move more, then, scrambling with his legs and shifting his hips. Dean stops his movement and glares down at him.

“Don’t,” he pants. “Let me do it. You relax.”

“Dean,” Cas moans, and it sounds broken and perfect and sends Dean’s hips into another slow rhythm.

They keep kissing, their hands clasped, as Dean rides Cas slowly, all his moves gentle enough that he doesn’t hurt Cas or himself. He grinds into Cas, rocks himself, moans shamelessly right into Cas’ mouth. Soon, Cas is gasping, eyes closed and fingers almost crushing Dean’s hands, hips straining not to fuck up into Dean.

“Let go,” Dean murmurs. “Let it go, sweetheart. Let me hear it, please.”

Cas moans brokenly, head falling to the side as he freezes beneath Dean. Dean milks his orgasm from him, hips rolling in perfect circles, lips pressed to Cas’ neck.

“Yes, Cas, so perfect. Thank you. That was perfect, baby,” Dean babbles, and when Cas goes soft and slips out of him, Dean pull himself up, frees one hand and jerks himself quickly until he’s coming all over his own stomach and Cas’ wide chest.

Cas has his eyes barely open, a lazy smile on his lips as he watches Dean shuffle around the bed to reach his shirt and use it to clean them both up a bit. He reaches out to him then, though, pulls him in close, Dean’s head landing on Cas’ shoulder and Dean’s toes brushing against his leg.

Dean reaches behind him, manages to find a blanket, and pulls it over them. Cas drops a kiss on the side of his head and Dean lets out a pleased sigh. 

They fall asleep a few seconds later.

♡♡♡

It’s still mostly dark in the room when Dean blinks his eyes open. He looks around slowly, mindful of Cas curled against his back, one his arms thrown over Dean’s waist and keeping him close. It seems it’s the middle of the night, and for a moment, Dean has no idea why he’s awake.

And then he realises there’s a song stuck in his head.

Not just any song, either. This song doesn’t exist yet, and it never will if Dean doesn’t get out of bed and write it down, _now_.

Cas stirs and mumbles something into the pillow when Dean carefully disentangles himself from his grip and slides out of bed. He spends a few seconds staring down at Cas, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Cas’ face looks soft and young in his sleep, the skin around his eyes and mouth relaxed, a slight flush high on his cheeks, hair dishevelled and falling onto his forehead.

Unable to resist, Dean leans down and plants a gentle kiss on Castiel’s cheek. Cas doesn’t react and Dean quickly pulls away, his heart all fluttery when it beats loudly against his ribs.

The song, he admonishes himself. Right now, the song is important.

He needs a pen and a piece of paper, and he needs them now, before the words and the music flee from his sleep-infused mind. He doesn’t want to write them down in his phone because typing on the small keyboard always frustrates him and takes much more time than it’s supposed to. He just needs to find something to write with.

He gets up and pads around the room, trying to see the details in the darkness. There is something that looks like a bookshelf in one corner of the bedroom, but he can’t see anything apart from books there. He slowly walks on along the walls of the bedroom until he reaches a wide window. 

There are a few potted plants on the sill, two other books, an abandoned cup of coffee, and a white scrap of paper. Dean lets out a quiet hum and inspects it from both sides, making sure it’s empty and big enough. He finds a small pencil right behind the books, then goes back to sit down at the foot of the bed and starts to write.

He’s so immersed in it that he doesn’t even realise Cas’ soft breathing has changed and doesn’t feel the bed dip. Then, something drapes itself over his back and Dean nearly jolt off the bed in his surprise.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Cas murmurs and noses against Dean’s neck. “What are you doing?”

“Oh.” Dean looks down at the paper in his hands, mostly covered with his messy black writing. He’s pretty sure some of the words might not be legible in the daylight because he did mostly write it in the dark, but he hopes most of it will be useful. “Got struck with an idea for a song and had to write it down.”

“Mhmm,” Cas hums, rubbing his face into Dean’s back. “What is it about?”

“Hard to say,” Dean says with a smile. “It’s not finished yet.”

“Okay.” Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulder, resting his head against Dean’s back and snuggling into him from behind. “Finish it, then, and come back to sleep.”

Dean chuckles, only a little bit self-conscious. “You’re just gonna stay here?”

Cas’s breath is warm against Dean’s skin. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Dean says, and realises it’s true. Cas isn’t prying, but he’s offering comfort and support and promising good things after Dean is done. Dean would be an idiot if he had something against it. “Just give me a minute.”

Cas hums and seems to drift away again. Dean takes a bit longer than a minute, but he’s pretty satisfied with the end result. He drops the paper and the pencil down onto the floor and turns in Cas’ arms.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmurs and leans down to brush his lips against Cas’.

“Is it done?” Cas asks and even manages to open his eyes for a moment, all bleary and adorable.

Dean nods and drags him back to bed, letting himself be spooned from behind and tucked against Cas’ wide chest. They lie like that for a while, Dean’s fingers thoughtlessly stroking Cas’ arm, fingers still a bit frantic after writing.

Suddenly, Cas whispers against Dean’s ear. “Is it about me?”

Dean huffs out a quiet laugh. “What if I said yes?”

“Then I’d be honoured,” Cas mumbles. 

“Good to know,” Dean says. He catches Cas’ hand and interlaces their fingers, looking down at the sight and smiling. “But, uh, no. Not this time. It’s pretty general, I guess.”

“I’m glad to see you’re inspired to write,” Cas says softly.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean murmurs. “Guess I found my muse.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, friends! Thank you for reading!


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